The Brimstone Tower
by Kasan Soulblade
Summary: Inconsistancy plauged them, rememberance and reality clashed. In the souls of four a silent war with the truth and perception was waged. A/N: PLEASE read note on "Questions, Quary, and..."
1. Chapter 1

Brimstone Tower's Fall

Intro: Dark Birth

_Author's opening note:_

_I've been playing Kingdom Hearts for quite a while. Actually, truth be told, I'm kinda addicted to the game. I've gotten a substantial chunk of number two played, so I thought I had enough background to dare a fanfic. Don't know if I'll continue this or not, it doesn't feel like a one shot. I haven't played the DS Kingdom heats, nor have I unlocked the secret ending in the first game, I also have something of a twist in mind, so expect some breaches in cannon. _

_Kasan Soulblade_

He came into his world, followed by a choir of discordant voices. They came in many shades, and followed him into the yellow rimmed dark. Two orbs of yellow he remembered, a precursor to those voices. Two glints of gold yellow, not sun yellow, but gold, a touch, those voices. Voices fell, like stones that preceded an avalanche. Sound tumbled all over itself, and coherence was lost in the jumble. Amongst the meld of meaningless noise were those two yellow pinpricks, and even those two points of chromatic stability shattered. For the yellow orb's heart was darkness, and the dark heart was a fractured thing.

It shattered at his coming, and he fell through the fragments. He dove through the meaningless and meaningful, in a freefall of deathly stillness.

"Having a bad time of it, I imagine?"

Glazed green eyes flicked in the direction of the speaker. They floated in nothing, were twin emerald beacons on a blank canvas that lead to no one.

"We all do, don't worry about it. It's just the beginning you know. You're in for a hell of a ride."

There was no speaker. Only darkness on dark. The no color world he found himself redoubled upon itself, and found its heart in oblivion. It was empty, expansive; in the way one can _feel_ the empty rather than see. But then, lost in this abyss, sight was relative… or rather hypothetical. To those who found the darkness as their home the green of his eyes were viridian beacons, the raised crest of red hair a crimson challenge. The nothing about him moved, and for his being immersed in it he felt that movement.

Like a victim of a riptide, he could feel the dark dragging on him, pulling him forward. Tugging him back. Rocking and pulling, yet for all the motion nothing was ripped or torn. Finally the gyrations stopped, and all was still.

"Wh…" His lips moved, or so he thought. He could sense their motion; the hiss of his own gasped breath was the only thing he could feel. For him there was only a sense of being, the caress of his life's breath, and an encroaching, deathly, cold. The cold was like an overhanging, not on top of him, but ominously close. Its presence made his lips chatter, and had he known, the artic caress made his skin go white. "Wh… where am I?"

"Oh, an inquisitive one! Ya must have been as curious as hell to keep it here!"

Limbs twined around him, his own. He pulled them over his frame, or what he presumed to be his own body. The move was one of desperation, a futile instinct barely remembered. Instinct was purpose mired in survival, but even that knowledge was quick to fade...

For the touch of the one he grasped was as chill as the unseen world about him.

"Wanna know your name, 'fore I send you on your way?" The voice purred into his ear.

Shuddering, he knew only that he wanted to let go, to push away, but there was no getting away. Flight was not an option. There earth to push his feet against, no ground to scramble across, and having no place to begin there was no destination to call away. In this world there was no distance, save the immediate.

"You're a heartless, h-e-a-r-t-l-e-s-s, got it memorized?"

The cold intensified, became a point over his chest and drove in. He screamed, or rather wheezed, in shock. He was beyond screaming, even as he was beyond feeling. Still the sentiment was felt, and the world shivered, the darkness rippled. The freezing touch went in deep and hard, and grabbed at the sole writhing mass of warmth that he knew was his own. His mouth opened, a silent scream this time, and in desperation he snatched at that which strove to steal all he had left.

All the warmth, all the life, all that was left, he reached for it even as the dark tried to rip it away.

In response to his will his hand closed over the dark, not over what was lost, because what was lost could never be reclaimed. His hand closed over _something,_ and that _something_ shivered in response to his touch.

"Aint got nothin' memorized..." He croaked, his grip tightened, the way a dying man's hand closes over the weapon that killed him. "Y.. you... get.. back.. 'ere..."

The dark was obliging. Shadow and nothing folded over him, cut through him and his emptiness. Dark became his everything and nothing.

As did he. Following suit was his only recourse in this no-land never-land. He became everything and... nothing.


	2. A Rich Man's Game

_Full Story Summery: _

_Inconsistency plagued them, remembrance and reality clashed. In the souls of four a silent war with the truth and what they perceived to be truth was waged. The ripples of their conflict would reach out, slowly but surely. And the consequences would be beyond imagining. Kingdom Hearts1 and 2/Final Fantasy 7, Crossover._

The Brimstone Tower

Chapter 1

A Rich Man's Game

"Mr. Strife, it's been a while."

Lounging back in his tall backed chair, the heir of Shinra was as cool and unflappable as always. There were small changes, the most obvious being the fact that gray had threaded its way through the mass of golden blonde hair. This was not a sign of encroaching age, rather –if rumors were to be believed- a mark of strain. Ice blue eyes glinted as they caught and refracted the electric light. The blond man's head dip a polite greeting from a world long forgotten. No more words were spoken, but a chair had been left vacant. A chair in front of a long, charred, mahogany desk. Both desk and chair stood in a pool of lamplight.

Those eyes that had regarded his approach closed slowly, as if the sight of the black clad swordsman was too much.

A glimmer of gold around the edges, a mock tear from the man who never cried. A half step back, and lost in the gloom of the empty and poorly illuminated office, the illusion of grief faded away in a black blur.

"I thought you weren't a Shinra lap dog anymore." The man in white murmured as the sullen man in black took the empty seat as his own.

"I'm not."

"A great deal of pain could have been adverted if you had simply toed in line and listened to me before, Strife. The losses we've incurred due to your surplus of asinine pride could have been adverted. Reeve listened, and he and his precious WRO are now under Turk protection."

"Call it what it is!" The black clad man roared. He lifted his hands and smashed them on the table. Being mere wood, it cracked at the ex-SOLDIER's infuriated blow. "Protection my ass! I've lived through your father's reign, we all have!"

"The _Turk_," -deadly emphasis colored that one word. Though the delivery could have been stubborn or prideful it was mocking. Add to that the lethal dose of sobriety in Rufus' gaze and even implied mirth shrivel up and die. "-Vincent Valentine, took my words seriously enough. Both he and Ms. Yuffie went to the Northern Crater, the place of... the incident... It's not as quiet as it once was, Strife. Yuffie found that out, as did Valentine, and still you insisted on ignoring me. Now, shall we mention the incident at Kalm, or did you want to hear my solution? If not, I should spend an hour or two chewing you out, and I would if I could."

"I imagine that your solution can be summed up into three words, more Shinra influence," Cloud growled, his expression sullen, his voice died down to match.

"Hardly. Military action is implausible considering the ramifications..."

"_What_ ramifications?"

"Would you believe me that I sent a squad of SOLDIERS down with Mr. Valentine and that not one of them came back alive?"

"I don't know what your game is." The ex-SOLDIER hissed, pushing his chair back with enough force that the legs of the chair cracked as the steal splintered, but you're a Shinra through and through if you think I'm going to let sit back and let you get away with this."

"With what?" Eyes the hue of ice that also shared an artic warmth met eyes cast in living mako green. Spreading his hands a gesture of helplessness Rufus looked up at one of the last remaining members of AVALANGE with an oddly vacant expression. "Get away with what?" The Shinra queered.

The note of _true_ helplessness in "the most influential man on gaia"'s voice made Cloud shiver. Chasing off fear with bull headed stubbornness, Cloud turned on his heel and went to the door. Even as he left the abused chair gave way as it's shattered legs found out the hard way they could support nothing.

"With whatever you're planning! Deepground, Sephiroth, all of what's happen has been your fault!" He snarled over his shoulder as he made his way to the door. Cloud half expected a defiant "don't blame, all that was my father's fault" speech to follow him on his way out. Only silence met his outburst, and perhaps that silence had an impact because he stopped on the threshold for a moment. Waiting and hating that even as he waited he was pleasing this arrogant bastard's sense of melodrama by doing so, Cloud clenched and unclenched his hands.

At last the deadlock broke, but not the way the ex-SOLDIER would have imagined.

"Do you remember a man named Reno? Red hair, green eyes, he was a Turk."

"No."

Silence, uninformative for it lacked in all expression, fell. At last it was broken with a wistful reminisce on Rufus' part.

"Funny, that, considering he did some not so clandestine flirting with a Ms. Gainsborough a few years ago. I thought you'd remember something like that. He was the leader of the SOLDIERS that I sent. He took a hit for Mr. Valentine while on his latest mission and died of complications... in the hospital."

"Vincent didn't mention a Turk being on the mission." Cloud countered.

"Yes, odd isn't it." Rufus murmured. "You'd think he would remember something like that."

The only response to the Shinra's comment was the slamming of the door as Cloud stormed out.


	3. Blood is the base

_To my readers… (is anyone even reading this story?) I offer a summery of sorts. It spans from the fall of JENOVA to the present time, so that way there are a few less gaps. Very flashbacky, and I also am taking pains to introduce the Turks to non FF7 fans. And yes, I know flashbacky isn't a word, but meh.. Kasan Soulblade_

Brimstone Tower

A base of blood

Green, it licked across his eyes, and thought others feared it to be poison or the Planet's lifeblood he'd been raised to call it light. The jade and emerald of spring were the unspoken lullaby. The colossal nightlight and the green tinted darkness were not horrible simply because they were unnatural. Perhaps such illumination was beyond the everyday, but it wasn't evil.

But those unlike him, without his vision, claimed that the Shinra tower was sheathed in brimstone.

He dreamt of it though. His days were underscored by an aching absence and his night wanderings were filled with cruel images of what could never be again. The reactors that cast his empire in an emerald phoenix's embrace were dead. Long dead, and long gone. But still he saw viridian pillars reaching for the stars…

Amongst the ashes of his recollection, polished by loving reminisce and made diamond hard due to suppression, was a gleaming image of green challenging the black. Of lifeless steal stained the green of supposed spring.

So it was with a sigh that he opened his eyes and saw a world colored in sickly yellow. Birds, not automobiles, cheered the morning with their brainless song. Their song was bright and chirpy (pun totally intended) and it cut through his sensitive sleep deprived brain like knives in the hands of a mad scientist. Having been acquainted with the mad (both the scientific bent and not) he declared a pardon for himself and banned reality from intervening on his life for at least five more minuets. Since reality, and the birds, weren't listening he settled for rolling over and with a minimal amount of groping found the pillow.

One fabric sheathed lump of fluff later and the sounds still attacked him; luckily for the makers of the racket their voices were now muffled.

A rap at his door banished his prospects of sleep. Some bright brainless melody was being conveyed in Morse code on his door. Not exactly armed to greet the day, he snarled at the offending noise and its maker. The knocker considered his slurred reply, than waited half a minute before knocking again.

"Sir, I know you don't want to be awoken, but Tseng said it was important."

With a loud curse he added his morning contribution to the bird song outside. _He_ graphically detailed a rather vile disease that he hoped would inflict itself upon the Turk who dared intrude on his sleep. Then, to cover all bases, he suggested that the person go do something physically impossible to their mother.

"Sir, you aren't making this easy." The voice growled, not at all phased by his profanity. "I've been given orders to drag you down if you don't come. Don't make me act on them."

_And don't make me enjoy acting on them_. The woman's tone threatened.

With a sigh that ended in a frustrated growl Rufus Shirna, the man who had owned the world a childhood agone, gave up.

"I'm coming!" He snarled.

"Hurry up then, breakfast is getting cold."

The click of heels snapping against a wooden floor confirmed beyond a doubt who he was dealing with. Out of all the Turks who served with the Shinra Company, only a handful had been women, and only one in his time as president bothered to be feminine.

Only Elena Woodwright could fill that bill. Sole woman of the Turks, one of the last three Turks alive in Edge or anywhere else, she had a figure like a gymnast and the aim of a gun slinger. Newest of the Turks, she had been called Rookie despite years of service and had put up with bullshit from her superiors for years. Finally her patience had snapped. It was shortly after the JENOVA fiasco both Shinra the corporate and Shinra the president had been humbled. Attacks were common, and even the presence of professional killers weren't slowing the people down. Anywhere Rufus had dared to go the masses had lashed out and _that_ had been the final straw for the beleaguered camel.

Never one to take a lack of respect from anyone under her Elena had opened fire despite orders to the contrary. The controversy that one rash action spread had been a pain in the ass to quiet up but for one week at least there hadn't been any paparazzi or protesters dogging his steps. For that, Rufus had smiled, and when Tseng tried to demote Elena for attacking the innocent Rufus put her up for a raise.

"So I'm not a saint." Rufus shrugged, looking into the half Wutai's wide eyes, a wry smile touching his lips. "The world needs to remember that."

"You can not play the role of the redeemer if every action you make is mired in blood."

"I can't even begin to fix one damn thing if I can't walk down the street without getting killed." Rufus had shot back. "It's my choice. I'm the president. She gets a raise, and if you don't want to take the funds out of your account to accommodate her _I will_."

Tseng had folded, for he could not bear to lose face. For the money to come from Rufus would have meant that the Turk had doubts in his subordinates. And to doubt one of his own was, in the half Wutia's eyes, the same as doubting himself.

Never permitting himself even a moment of perceived weakness Tseng went along with his President's command. For despite what the Continentals believed, the Wutia knew that submission to the strongest was not weakness, merely prudent.

With a grunt, Rufus swung his legs over the side of his bed and numbly awaited the inevitable. One push, and his feet hit the floor (steel, his half asleep mind murmured, it should be made of polished steel). The substance was chill, but not shockingly so. Made of wood, the whole of his quarters was sheathed in a dun brown blur. Though the whorls that marked it as living matter had been worn and polished down to mere cosmetics he never saw them. The fine details made the dull whole rather pretty when the shade was pulled up and sunlight permitted within were lost on him.

Rufus never pulled the shade up. It was always tied down, and to make _sure_ it stayed down he knotted at least three times to keep a stray gust from letting any light in.

"Very… owlish, Sir." Rude had noted upon entering. Hands clasped behind his back, he took a step back and let his head turn to take in the whole of the room. Glasses obscured the Turk's eyes, obliterated easy access to the windows of his soul. Had Rude bothered to set the black glasses aside the man's brown eyes would have seemed as hard as stone.

"I'm glad you approve." Rufus had snapped.

Sheathed in white his voice was little more than a croak. His throat was fast filling with thick mucus as if in rebellion to the flowers outside. The innocent flora slipped their perfume under the drape, and despite his best effort and all his complaints the Shinra couldn't keep the world out. For Tseng had ordered that his President get plenty of fresh air.

Ironic considering how it seemed as if the _fresh_ part of air was smog to him.

The world was poison, the sun's light deadly, sustenance that must be taken was traded for in pain.

His life once filled with power and politics had come to this. Holding off a slow rot from within, and at its end he was to expect delirium and madness.

With a sigh Rufus resigned himself to his fate. He'd live penned up in a dark, light deprived room, for the rest of his short life. Certainly it would only be a few weeks, no more than that. He had waited longer for less important things for his death, this waiting would not be so bad.

Quietly setting the suitcases down Rude allowed his gaze to drift over the stark room, not even the bed was made for comfort. It was a cot nailed to the wall, a thick white drape slung over it so that should the drape be pulled open the occupant would only take a mild blistering from the light. Nothing else was in the room, no television, no computer. Nothing save the bed, two suitcases, and the two men. At last Rude looked to the man he was to guard, to lay his life down to protect, and the Turk let his lip quirk into a half smile.

"No coffin?" Rude asked coolly.

"Just get out." Rufus nearly choked on the words. He spat out a wad of flem, never mind the pristine state of the floor. "I don't want a speech. I'm tired."

"Yes sir. Do you require assistance to the bed, sir?"

"No, I do not." Rufus growled. With a hiss the Shinra began the long walk to the bed. His left leg was numb; it always was now that the black growth had crept up past his ankle. He limped and swore with every step.

Oblivious to his superiors troubles Rude went to the window, stared at the blank black sheet that had been set over it. Light, golden not mako green, formed around it like the vibrant hue that settled around a scab. As Rufus eased himself upon the bed's edge Rude cleared his throat. The heir, not caring, rolled over on his side. He turned his back to the glass plane. There was a rustle of fabric as Rude shucked off his vest and wound it around his arm, then silence.

"The world doesn't end sir, not until you're dead. Locking yourself in this room isn't going to end that. You have responsibilities." Rude noted.

Rufus curled into a ball, making himself a tight mass of limbs and diseased flesh. The stigma sent stabs of agony through his body for the motion, but he could ignore that. Drawing the covers over his head, wound up as tightly as he could be, Rufus snuggled against the un-judging pillows.

There was a sigh of fabric being pushed aside, than a shocking noise that made him shiver. A loud crack sounded, and it was followed by the musical ting-a-link of glass falling. Scared into abandoning his pose of anger fueled strength, Rufus shoved the covers aside, struggled to see.

What awaited him was a wall of burning gold. He recoiled from the light, a croak of pain slipped out of his lips. Dark brown skin highlighted by that light, Rude strolled by, glints of bright yellow hue catching on the edges of his black glasses. Blinking back tears and black pus, the Shinra saw only a blur of pain, heard once again the fall of fabric.

When night fell, and he was able to move once again Rufus would find his sole window a broken ruin. A bloody vest carelessly tossed at the foot of the ruin.

The next day when he dared to creep outside his room wrapped all in white he would find Rude drinking coffee. The Turk's arm was perfect match for his president's form. Both were wrapped in white, both seeped red.

"I should apologize… sir."

"Don't bother." Sitting down, numb and ever aching, Rufus would absently take the place besides his Turk. Smiling for the first time since his diagnosis the Shinra even managed a laugh. "Don't bother."

X

A craggy, smoke roughened voice met his demand, and did so unflinchingly.

"They've agreed to let up on the bans. Mako fueled lights, searchlight, even fueled by good ol' fashioned combustion 'ill light the city."

"Very good, Mr. Highwind." Nodding the Turk leaned back into the chair he'd barrowed from the President. It was not some smoke wreathed relic from the Shinra building, rather a rolling chair used by the casual computer gamer. Not that he, a Wutia half son would know about that since he never bothered to play…

"The whole place will be lit up, Reeve's gunna hold the ground with his boys, and some of your SOLDIERS last I heard."

Edge, not Midgar, would be illuminated. That had been agreed. Why bother lighting the ruins of a forgotten dynasty?

"_It's the people, Tseng, the people that matter now_."

How much like a child he'd sounded when the president had told him that. How hopeful and naive…

"You think walls of solid illumination will keep them out?" He asked.

He was all business, from the missions start to finish he was always business.

Especially when dealing with the enemy and despite what ideals the world held, the Turks and AVALANGE would always be enemies.

He'd not so fast forget the dead of Shinra that lay at the interloper's feet.

"Hell if I know." Came the rasped reply.

_Them_, was the black, writhing darkness… They had no name, and though only a handful remembered their presence as glowing eyes the prudent recalled the piles of clothing left behind. There were marks, save those of flight. No memories either… Faintly he recalled a city to the north, a place with a name that bespoke of soothing water and utter stillness.

The name though was forgotten, like the people who lived there. And only the fact that Reeve had deliberately sent people out to this forgotten place and left a note out in plain sight told them that there had been search parties sent at all…

No one had returned. The few videos gained only showed darkness with yellow eyes.

Letting out a sigh, the slant eyes Turk ran a hand though his black hair.

"Well we shall hope for the best, as always." Tseng offered.

A pale hope for the gullible, it was so little as to be nothing.

And like a fool this man of AVALANGE took it up.

"Hope, hell, we'll win!" Cid snarled. "No hope about it!"

Tseng didn't even bother to reply.


	4. The Proving

Brimstone Tower

The Proving

_To my Readers, An old chapter and some notes thrown together. My view of the Turks is somewhat contraversal, but oph well, you can't please them all... Something that's always struck me in the KH series is the lack of emphasis on the heartless. You see them in masse, you fight them as a mob, and they're described as mindless monsters... but in the end after a few swings of the keyblade they're just puffs of smoke, gone, never to return. That's always struck me... as ironic if nothing else. Nothing is more terrorfying than the soulless, and a mob of insubstantial creatures with the mindless drive to destroy could bring ruin to a city overnight. I guess such gory emphasis has become the cliche of zombie movies. Still, I feel that the full potential of the heartless was under used. In the games you always see the aftermath of a heartless invasion, not the process. You never see the survivors, those who fought back, and whatnot. While I don't plan on detainling the whole downfall of gaia (AKA the ff7 world) I do plan on focusing on it, just a little, before the real story begins. Kasan Soulblade_

Sometimes he hated himself more than he hated the job, and considering his track record that was damned impressive.

This was becoming one of those times.

The screaming wasn't so bad. Not really. He'd heard people die before. Part of the job, killing, and if you weren't able to deal with the screams you didn't last long in the world. No, it wasn't the screams of the dying that got to him; it was the way the sound cut off into a smothered, drowning, _nothing_. It was like listening to a hundred thousand people drowning to death after seeing their greatest nightmare.

His hands were shaking, professionalism be damned, his hands were shaking for the first time in years. Clenching his hands into fists to still the damned shakes he stared intently into the dark. Despite the blazing lights overhead and the roaming patrols overhead –helicopters, launched at noon stuffed with enough fuel to last 'til dawn- there were shadows. Small slivers of darkness that swayed and shivered as the roaming beams of light swerved past.

One day hadn't been enough. No day was long enough to light a whole city with its population numbering in the hundreds of thousands. It was impossible –physically impossible- to take away all the dark. Shadows remained, clinging to mass if nothing else. Regardless of intellect and argument he took final watch with a sense of foreboding. A sense made all the more keen considering his charge's demands. They stood on the roof of the Midgar Electric Company's tallest building. Built on the edge of Edge and completed a mere month ago it stood on the outskirts of the mass illumination project underway.

His charge was clad immaculate white, a gun was held in those steady hands as he prowled the heart of this well lit sanctuary. Well, Rude conceded with a small sigh, Rufus stood in the center of things _most_ of the time.

"Sir, get away from there!" He barked

"I can't see a damn thing!" The Shinra's words and tones were swift and pointed, like a shot to the gut.

"You aren't supposed to, sir." Rude reminded his President for the hundredth time it seemed.

"It's too bright." Rufus complained.

"You could have stayed in your office." The black clad Turk reminded him. "And it would have been this bright there. Inside or out, I've got orders to keep you under light twenty four seven."

The screams hit a high pitch, Rufus shivered, drawing his trench coat around his shoulders as if warding off a chill.

Giving up the ghost Rude just shoved his hands into his pockets and let let them shake.

_Expect heroism._ Had come the grim prnouncement.

_From him? _Rude had protested incrediously.

_Heroism is synominous for maddness... and considering that his father had a history of the later and Rufus has dabled in the former... prudence is our only defense._

_Orders then, sir?_

_Elena's been briefed, do as she says._

Great... damned Rookies getting orders and the pros left hanging on by a thread. The complaint sounded like something out of Renos mouth, and remebering his partner Rude dredged up something of a smile. He was still numb, blessedly numb to the guilt, the frusteration, the loss. It hadn't hit home yet, so he could still smile and function and act like his partner was on leave or something.

Maybe that's why the screams shook him 'till his quaked, because he was getting proof now. Proof to back the words that Tseng had delivered less than a week before.

_"He's dead, Rude. Died in the fight with _them_ in the Northern Cave." Silence then, black eyes once fixed on him considered something beyond them both, stared blankly beyond the real. "I'm sorry."_

Never before had Tseng appologized. Never. Not once in his ten plus years in the Turks. Appologizing meant caring, and caring went agianst the Turk code. Your superior did not grieve when you died, didn't give a damn when you got hurt. There were no "get well" cards when you go layed up in the hospital, no compensations, hell the company wouldn't even cover the cost of a Turk's funeral. Frugal, yeah, but a pointed reminder as well.

_Yeah Rude, lookin' sharp!_

Reaching up the Turk shifted his shades and he nodded his agreement. As always.

XXX

"There's a saying that fits this moment." Elena noted, running her hands though her shoulder length blond hair. "A contenetal one."

Amused that his own ploy was being played on him, the half Wutia paused. One foot rested on the still helicoptor's floor, the other on the concreet landing pad. Turning his head he indulged her with a twitch of his lips that was far too lean to be a true smile. His eyes were black, the rings around them were almost the same glossy hue. His palid face was made ghastly by two days without sleep, and contrasted by the black of his uniform. Yet, despite his weariness he was immaculate, his tie was centered, his hair carefull combed and slicked back so he looked as he always did. Ready for another day at work, ready for anything.

But add to the macabe state of his face, the slight shaking of his hands... Tseng looked ready to be layed out for his own funeral.

Still he had tried to smile, and she summoned up a wide grin. Utterly foolish, he'd called it. An innocent's smile, too wide, too warm to be fully Turk. Still, despite his criticisms he responded to that smile with the softening of his gaze. So she smiled, thinking he needed something normal, something comonplace in this world gone mad.

"_It's all going to hell in a handbasket_." Elena quoted.

"Hardly comforting wisdom for the moment." The Turk protested, his accent -like his protest-, was a token thing.

"Accurate though."

Not bothering to respond he'd boarded the helicoptor, not once looking back. Taking his place as piolet the leader of the Turks set the head set in place, then reaching up he flipped a few switches. A shrill scream sounded as steel cut through the air with mako born speed. The scream became a bone shaking thrumb a few moments later, and grey dust flew everywhere as Tseng reached forward, leaned back... and the 'chopter rose with a roar.

XXX

The phone rang. The familiar ring tone annoyed Rufus so much that the hier looked up from his pacing to glare at Rude. Holding up a hand to enjoin silence the Turk fumbled out his phone and set it against his ear.

"Rude? This is Elena."

"What's going on?" Rude managed to make his tone sound casual, as if the screaming wasn't going on or growing closer.

"Orders from HQ." Elena replied. "Urgent."

"Put him through..."

"No time, listen, I need you to incapitate the President. We're not going to have time for a long arguement..."

XXX

He'd watched the sun set, eyes grim, contemplating the red tinted spires of a forsaken city. Around it's edge burst forth a halo of light, and from above he could beter appreciate the view. It wasn't complete, that ring of light, nor were the "rescue" efforts set forth by the WRO. Seach parties had scoured the lower classes' homes, ripped people from the familiar, and hearded them to the center of a flat expanse. Silloetted from above, illuminated from all angles, they stood, pillars providing their own bars of night in a heard.

_It was a matter of saftey in number_, Reeve had insisted.

In the edge of the light, sending thin lines of thier own personal dark before them stood regiment upon regiment of WRO and the tatered remains of SOLDIER.

Light glinted off the edges of steel, off of traditional blade and modern muzzle of a gun.

Not one Turk stood amongst them.

Protectors, one and all, they stood around the ring of light. Within it yet on the edge. Thier shadows stretched before them, making it from above seem the bars of black found in a mortal eye. Unblinking, green tinted, the eyes gazed up at heaven, it's center a mass of humanity swayed and shivered.

Restless, fearful... The noise below must be deafening, the crush unimaginable.

_There's saftey in numbers_, Reeve had believed, weary eyes lost in black rings much as Tseng's were. _The people of Midgar and Edge will be safe this way. They'll be guarded from above, from below, under constant illumination thorughout the night. We've enough nights to last months like this and nothing darkbound will get in, nothing._

One helicoptor shivered, swayed in it's flight. Greatly daring, Tseng let his hands drop from the helicoptors control panel, lifted them up to the head set and with the flip of a switch opened comunications. The screams had begun, from below and from above. Some little glimmer of black, some overlooked shadow in one of the helicoptor had come alive. Some black bound horror had reared it's head.

"Oh god... oh god..."

Gun fire. Some idiot while shooting while flying. Tseng turned his choptor and got the dubious honor of seeing the helicoptor in the west quadrent spew glass as the bullet went through the monster and came out the other end. Speaking of ends, the piolet shwoed some glimmer of sense before their end came. With a scream that carried over the whirl of blades -all the more clearly since the doomed man was wearing his wireless headset- the piolet, seeing steel was ineffective, jumped.

He went down screaming, stoping only when impact with the dark earth stilled his cries.

No longer guilded the helicoptor began it's crazed descent down. Below, someone undoutable looked up. Below, amongst the heard, the screams had begun.

Iris swaying till it nearly shattered, the protector's watched in stupified awe as thier own shadows gained eyes and substance and _reached_.

Guns were fired, blades were drawn, spots of color -materia born no doubt- burst into being, and the shadows pulled back and reached forward.

Hands and claws were concealed with that black, made of dark, born of dark, mere steel and magic were proving up to the task as the Turk had expected. Ineffective. Worthless. And a hundred thousand lives were going to be lost in the proving.


	5. Chapter 5

The Brimstone Tower

Untitled

To my readers, Written to "Not too late" by Thee Day's Grace. I've been bitten by the plot bug and pumped out four chapters last night. As time premits, I plan to put them all up. This chapter's rather scattered, I can't think of a title, but if anyone has sugestions I'm open to them. As always pelasent reading. Kasan Soulblade

Too young to properly from the word, his speach impediment was only enhanced by the stigma that trailed a black smear over his jaw. He was the youngest member of the Healin' Lodge, and despite the pain and effor the continued, finding a subsitute for speach.

His hands...

For a while they had worked non-stop. Making figurine after figurine. Then the desease, capricious and cruel, had started to creep down. When it took his hands, when the plasy started, he'd been restricted again, and like before, on the outset, he fought back. He scheduled his times, worked when the pain and shakes were at thier least, and carried on with his hoby when the timing was right.

Now his latest work now lay in a President's hands.

By common consent the President's title and last name weren't spoken. The consent was dictated by comon sense. Unphased by the fact he didn't know the man's name or couldn't form the words to save his life the boy had found a subsitute of sorts.

"Natn!"

Rolling the black blockish lump of clay in his hands, the giftee said nothing, merely rolled the gift over and over in his hands. His hands took in the child's efforts, his one eye fixated on the gift. A rectangle really, with a coil on one end and a raised triangleur lump on the other. Three lines etched in by the tip of a tooth pick marked.. whiskers perhaps.

"Natn!"

It was the only name the boy had heard called in this pale man's presence. He knew the black clad people of course, they hovered and fussed over the white robed man's chair, talking to him in low terms, discussing "buisness". The word was long, therefore inpronouncable, still he recalled it even if he couldn't say it. He also recalled another name for the gleaming black cat that the white clad man would occasionally walk like a dog. He said that word now, proudly, small chest puffed up in pride at his efforts.

"Natn."

"Yes," gaze distant, hand idly stroking the figuring, the lonely man smiled. It was a trembling smile that seemed ready to tumble off his lips. "Yes, Dark Nation."

X

Dark Nation had served many rolls. Pet, guardian, comforter, paly mate. He'd indured the flux and change of his pack with a even headedness that was odd considering how anti-social most panther-hounds were. He'd tumbled hume cubs in his silky paws and padded out in full daylight with a quiet purr. He'd curled besides master, for warmth, for comfort, and in that stinky "Hostal" place that had served for their den for so many moons after the sky fires.

He'd also torn the throats out of any who dared hurt his pack. Rending flesh with his onyx claws and breaking bones -and crushing the occasional windpipe- with a lash of his tenticle. But such matters of threat against the pack were only spoken _amongst_ the pack. It was not a thing of the herd beyond the pack.

So it was only with the most mild of mews in protest that he had boarded the box that howled and rose without feet. The tantalizing scent of old master smell in one of those boxes was all the lure Dark Nation needed.

X

A bit of black rose on four legs. It's blue eyes opened wide and glittered with interest. A grunt and the dark pulled back, reared up, and glints of white shone for the barest of moments.

"Good morning, Dark Nation. Or rather, good evening."

Below there were screams and gunfire. He faintly heard those sounds over the dry hiss of static that went on and on in his ears.

The other lines had gone dead, fires dotted the landscape, distant becans of red clawing at the black sky. From some of the conflargations a few helicoptor blades poked up. Thin bars of steel rising over the flames only to topple as thier substance grew soft and folded to gravity's silent steady pull.

At his touch his helicoptor -loaned to him from Rufus- began it's careful descent to a square of light that was still distant from the burning and the screams.

X

Heros they were called. Gaia's saviours, a heven sent that was hell bent on destroying the "enemies of the world" They'd captured the imaginations of a cynical world. Buster sword intercepting the sweep of a madman driven Masamure, Cerberus taking aim and stealing the delsuional glories of a frail madman born as a warrior almost ten years after his death...

Those were the images, imortalized by the media, alive in the public's imagination.

But, like all other stories, there were two sides, and that other side was hardly considered.

The matter of sacrafice on the other end... unimportant... and therefore dismissed.

He thought of Cissnie, defying her superiors and risking worse than death to look the other way. Her sacrifice -found and paid for in blood- granted time. time for the Bustersword to pass from mentor to heir. Nevermind the questions eluded for that blade, the knife blade in the gut by Hiedegger's hitman and the fact that her team mate had to drag her back from the edge of death.

That was unimportant.

Forget the grueling "servailence duty". The deadly task of watching a mark from afar in hostile seroundings. Nevermind the silent agony such a watch must have cost and the punishements' inflicted for failing at capture time and time again. Nevermind the passion that went unmarked, the forced friendship that was upheld for a whole decade and more for the sake of protection.

The hollowed out gaze of Tseng when the girl had died... Such a sight was insignificant, the ramifications and grief... irrelevent.

The monies that were poured into reconstruction were unmarked. The policemen, Turks, and SOLDIERS sent into the building fray were Shirna trained and marked, and because of that they were the the bad guys. Nevermind the evacuation of Junion. That sea side base made a hell in that attack. The catistrophic losses that ensued when those "bad guys" were pitted against the gaia born WEAPON that rose from the sea. The number of dead and wounded go uncounted. No one dared a memorial because it would be defaced, destroed, on the day of it's rising.

As for the "final confrontation", that hell born span where the red eye of some mad god descended to lear at the works of man, thier efforts were forgotten. Nevermind the sister ray. The Shirna manufactured mako canon who's one shot sliced through the sky across a world to skewer a rampaging WEAPON.

The barrier fell at Shinra's attack. Not because of some effort of Strife's.

But the world quickly forgot that, and in forgetting they eschewed thier sympothy.

His hands clenched into hard fists, he swung, all his anger behind each blow.

_Tseng layed out in the hospital, a pale Elena holding his hand, running her fingers through his hair... _

_Rufus, worn, bloody, and at twenty one was forced to learn how to walk once more, with a cane._

_Reno, leg shattered so that that bone jutted out of the flesh, a wry pain thinned smile on his lips. __"That Cloud punk, he puts up a hell of a fight." Reno had grunted before they'd wheeled the Turk into the OR._

Wrist locked his target crumpled over the first hit. The white clad form bent double as the air _whooshed_ past his lips. Grimly Rude stepped back, delivered a kick that landed between the President's eyes. Rufus went down then, went down and rolled, finally coming to a stop on the edge of the light. With a curse Rude strode forward, snagged his bosses boss by the front of his shirt and dragged the young President into the light.

Rufus, not one to roll over and die, curled his bloody lips in a snarl and swung back. Rude went with the hit, the Wall snapped over him like a second skin would blunt the blow. And that it did. Rufus howled in pain and fury as his fist conected with the materia wrought barrer. Rude winced as the force of the kid's blow shattered his shades though, winced and turned away.

That moment of weakness was snatched upon. One blow to the groin made Rude drop the president, the white clad man's follow up kick to the back of Rude's knees brought the Turk down. Forget the Wall, the kids opening hit had hurt like hell!

Meeting the young man's snarl with one of his own Rude twisted to his feet and delivered a kick that brough him down again. he'd forgone the fight to his feet for retribution, and that retribution hit home. The satisfying hiss of pain and the thud of a body going down told the Tuk that his instincts were still working just fine. He stood then, brushing off the front of his uniform and taking the broken shades from his eyes. Rude took off his one vanity, folded them like they were worth something, and with one motion chucked them over this shoulder. Wtih a skip and a crack they shattered in full, thier fragments spinning out into the shadows that lerked at them with yellow eyes.

On hands and bent knees, winded and woozy, the President of the Shirna company, the man Tseng fondly called "half turk" glared up at his guard. Rufus didn't move though, didn't throw himself forward so that they could pick up the fight from where it had started.

A smart move that, considering how Rude had drawn his gun and all.


	6. Leavings

The Brimstone Tower

Chapter 6

_To my readers, _

_Sorry about the slow update time, I've been a bit busy. Had a cold, then the work shift constantly changed day-to-day, add to that the errands I had to run... Well I've been busy, to say the least. Haven't felt well rested enough or -to be more honest- I haven't been thinking well enough for a concentrated wirting effort. To make up for that I offer an extra long update. _

_Kasan Soulblade_

The limp body was slung over his shoulder, a hot familiar wieght. He was used to carrying bodies, being the muscle in the operation lead to doing the heavy part of the dirty work. After a decade of service he'd learned not to protest, he just did the work with a grunt and left it at that.

Body supported by one arm he fished the phone out of his vest pocket with his free hand. on click of speed dial later and he was in touch with his "mission leader".

"Laney, I've got him."

No fanfare met his words. No congrads, no praise. But then the Turks' weren't like SOLDIER, celibrating wildly after the job (or rather the War) was done. Considering everything that was going on around him -and those flickuring yellow eyes just in the edge of the light- it wasn't professional pride that kept Rude quiet then, just common sense.

"That was quick."

He was smiling. He shouldn't be, but he was. It was a wide smile stripped with blood and considering the circumstances was a bit macabe. But consideing the world was hell macabe smiles had there places in the scheme of things. rude was still in the throws of what elena called "the victory high". Aldrenaline pounded in his viens with more force than blood. And when you were in that mode it meant taht either you pounded back harder or your blood pumped out faster.

Take your pick.

Rude was reved up, ready to go, ready to get in a hundred fights if needed. All he needed was the word. No orders for action came then. Again considering everything, and the light of those yellow unblinking eyes, the lack of action probably had something to do with common sense.

Right anger, wrong target. Rude would be without guilt until the adrenaline wore off, then that familiar bird would come to roost over his head like always.

"Kid wasn't prepared for a fist fight." Rude explained, he shifted his grip a bit as Rufus shivered. The tanquilizer that Rude had brought with him wasn't all that strong. Considering Rufus had materia -and that the kid might have given himself a boost via Time or Cure spell before this all began- Rude guessed the dart would last for a few more minutes at best. "Where's my ride, Laney?"

"He's on way." The Rookie assured him.

"Well tell him to hurry." Rude snapped.

XXX

'Laney, 'Lane, Elena; She had a lot of knick names.

Pulling off the down the head set she shook out her blonde hair, and though the sky was still well lit by natures finest, the color -a fiery kind of red made sooty by a sky clogged with grey/black clouds- marked that the sun was well on it's way down.

The shadows were long now and from where she stood she was almost touched by the growing shade. She shifted her position so the shade wasn't so close. Granted dark was all relitive, but time wasn't on her side today. The sun was seting after all, and it would be worse than suicide to be caught out in the open in the dark.

"Laney" Rude called her, his lips quirking into one of his small smiles. The nominitive had droven Reno wild, not because it was a babyish sounding nick name, but because it stuck. In a week all the Turks, Rookie and proven alike, were calling her "Laney". And Rude's smile, though small, dripped with triumph. To counter that triumph was Reno, he let his creativity run wild tossing off names and witcisms, and as time went on and none of them made a ripple he seethed. Finally, falling back on his birthright, the red head Turk had eventually folded to the inevitable, but not before stealing credit for Rude's idea.

"Why Laney?" She's asked, her own mouth stumbling over the odd sounding nominitive.

"Sound's young, right..." With a shrug Rude had let it drop. Clearly he'd used his daily allotment of words because he didn't say anything else to her for the whole day.

"Lane" was the President's name for her. Short and to the point he'd shaved off the first and last sylible of her name in his haste one day. The first day she'd heard it had been during the Jenova crisis. Trapped on the ship with the Calamity, he'd turned to her, asked her why they were going up when that Thing was directly below them.

"Making it dig, sir." She'd explained. "If it's here to bump you off than we should make it work for the effort, right?"

"Thanks 'Lane'." Rufus had growled.

"Just using Turk logic, sir." Elena had explained with a wide phony smile.

Her last name, Elena recalled, had come from Tseng himself. It... wasn't a change on her name really, rather a change on it's emphasis. Once the Turk's leader had let the sylibles roll carelessly of his tongue. It had been just a name, a name for a rookie, an underling, a co-worker.

That had changed upon his awakening.

Eyes glazed, his body pumped with morphine and more anti-pain medicines than she could name he came to after being three weeks out. She had hugged him with a glad cry, nevermind the tube and wires. Eyes wide, he seemed to shrink into himself, to shrink away from her touch. She ignored his hesitance and held him tight. A familiar burning starting behind her eyes, and she blinked, tears cutting cool paths down the side of her face.

"You're all right!"

"Ehl... Whe?"

Divining the question from his mumbles she let him go. Actually she eased him down so not to jar his various wounds.

"Midgar General Hospital, upper plate, segment four, sir." Ehlana reported dutifully. "You've been sick for three weeks, sir."

He swollowed then, hard, his hand lifting... as if to reach for his throat. Turning his head he looked at her, his black eyes vauge, but inquiring.

"Feeding tube sir, if you're up to it I'll get the nurse to bring you some anti-nausia meds."

Seeing the lack of understanding Ehlana forced a chuckle.

"You weren't waking up to eat... or anything..." Her voice broke on the last word, biting her lip she looked away. "Rufus overrode the whole "family must consent rule". Guess having the President in your corner is a plus." Shaking her head, she turned to look at him again. "They've been pumping chemicals and nutriants into you since you got here."

"How... here... I was... Temple."

"Yes sir," She confirmed with a nod. "You were at the temple, first floor. It's gone now. The whole temple. After we got you out of there we saw Strife and his companions heading out."

Eager, intent, Tseng's eyes fixed on her. She had to look away. Still his hands moved, twisted the blanket in his hands until it was as tightly wound as a rope.

"The President said your health was priority over the nutrialization of the anti-Shinra activists." Ehlana reported, gaze studying the tiled floor.

His croak of outrage made her look up. His face was touched with a thin skien of red, his eyes wide. Had Tseng his health or breath he would have been yelling, she knew that, instantly recognizing the rage in his eyes. And something in her snapped at the sight of his anger.

"You're a bastard! You know that!" She growled, and he seemed to shrink into himself as his rage was met with one as -if not more- potent as his own. "an assanine, macho..." Her voice broke, and with it, her resonlve.

She sat there for the longest time, her shoulders shaking as she sobed. The familiar hot warmth of tears trickled bown her cheeks, smearing her make up. Something cold brushed her hand, she looked down, startled to see it was his.

"What the hell were you thinking, taking Serphiroth on your own?" She croaked, finally forcing herself to meet his gaze.

He looked up at her his black eyes glinting around the edges as the slant of them caught the light.

"Ehlana," He seemed to taste her name, enunciating it utmost care past a miasma of nausia and weariness. "I... am a Turk..." His lips quirked into a rare -if half formed- smile. "As a Turk... you never... leave your partner... unprotected..."

Hiking through Edge, forsaking the car or any other type of moter viacle to remain an anominous pedestrian, her mode of transportation had taken her the bulk of the afternoon. Clad in her Turk blacks the sight of her uniform had warned off the few WRO personel and remnants of SOLDIER that were making thier rounds through the city, desperatly trying to coax the stuborn that there was saftey in numbers. She heard snippits of conversations between the stalwart protectors and the people that were refusing to be protected. Primarily it was a one sided conversation filled with assurances. The light and the people standing on it's edges would be enough to hold off the forces of a nightmare...

So on and so forth.

She was unimpressed to say the least, more than a little doubting, and that doubt had been shared by her President.

Furthermore to the point, that doubt had been shared by Tseng, so much so that when she had been sent on a solo mission to "gather" the "various personel that spearhead the WRO" she'd had no arguments. Well one, but her arguments for using her car were shot down as Tseng patiently explained that he had access to Rufus' helicoptor.

Add to the fact that they'd be using it this evening to make a get away and that there was no room on board for something as bulky as her car...

She'd sighed and endured, ever the Turk.

To that Tseng's eyes had lighted with something that was part pride, part humor. He knew her now, - Years of working together tended to sow _some_ knowledge between people.- and knowing her he knew that her car was her one indulgance. Dated but well cared for, she adored the car, tinkered with it on her time off, and they jointly admited that The Car (as he called it with a sigh and roll of his eyes) was her primary weakness.

It seemed that today, with the world ending this night, that she was going to be leaving her one "weaknes" behind.

Among other things.

"When it gets dark you get in retrieve the target and wait on the roof for pick up." Tseng had ordered her as made her way to his door. "I'll have the supplies and personel we are salvaging in hand before then. When you're in the target's vincinity you open comunications and _stay_ in contact. I'll corodinate both aquisition missions from the chopter and arrange the pick up. Now, head out."

To that she had nodded, ever the Turk.

And to that Tseng had smiled.


	7. The matter with mircales

The Brimstone Tower

Chapter 7

The matter with miracles

"She's waiting for us."

By shearest hapstance Elena had heard those words. She was between errands, walking from Reeve's office to some private local so she could call and report to Tseng via cell phone... She'd heard those hushed words, the awed tone, and while any greenie would have stopped dead in her tracks Elena went on her way.

But not after slowing a little, so she could catch the rest of it.

"Aeris, she's waiting for us..."

To Strife's awe came a brayed denial, and even that most potent -and vocal- of Wallace's refutes rang false in her hearing.

Even as she walked, Elena reached down into her pocket. She had more than Reeve's stuborn refusal to report now, a lot more.

X

A featurete taken from Edge News Interview,

featuring:

(A) Miss. Michelle R. White and (B) Mr. Rufus Shinra.

..."Do you believe in miracles, Mr. President?"

Looking up into the newswoman's eyes Rufus shook his head. The motion was slow, graceful, as was the small smile that curled the Shinra's lips.

"You could say my life is a balance of pragmatic and devine, Michelle. I was saved from a burning tower, man handled down sixty five stories down the fire escape. My injuries were life threatening, to say the least... covered with third degree burns, a broken back, shattered leg... Yet despite my wounds, the poisoning as lethal fumes crept into my office, and the shock of being hit by the WEAPON I survived. After the... incident in the tower there was months of physical theropy and ostrio-reconstructuion to endure than add to that the burden of thrid level Geostigma... Most would say it's a miracle I'm still alive. So yes, you might say that I am living proof that there are miricles, and that they do happen."

His tone was arch, his manner flipant as he ticked off event that had shattered lesser men than him on the tips of his caloused fingers.

"I note a bit of specticism in your tone, Mr. President." The reported noted, playing along with his tone, expecting some scandal raising tidbit to come.

"I _am_ a skeptic." Rufus Shinra teased, dangling the bait ever-so-charmingly in front of the woman's eyes. "It's part of an euntreprenuer's job, Ms. Michelle, to be a skeptic."

Rufus leaned back, eyes half closed, hands folded comfortably in his lap. The chair creeked, accepted his repositioning of wieght with that mighty sound.

"Outside of your profession, Mr. Shinra, if we were to divorce the man from his rank, his... title... What would Rufus Shinra say on the subject of miracles?"

She leaned forward as he leaned back. Scenting a story on the way, and never mind it was the end of the world, a story was a story. She'd patron the truth to the last breath. She was a pretty thing, entering her middle years with a kiss of grey on her temples. Despite encrouching eld she posessed alluring features and a dry wit that endeared her to media, her imidiate staff, and -most importantly- the person she was interigating. To Michelle White's universal carisma Rufus Shinra smiled. It was a wide gesture tingued with a bitterness around the eyes.

"That the divine intervines when it wills to whom they wills and no other. And that my miracle was synthisized, man made. It wasn't a faceless good will driven rescue crew that went into that inferno after me, it was a group of Shinra trained murderes that acted aginst my direct orders to evacuate. Those same... killers... went against thier superior's orders to pull Mr. Reeve Tuesti from that same fire."

Studying his hands, Rufus Shirna allowed silence to descend, his eyes distant as he considered his next words.

"I was later informed by Tseng of the Turks that once my identity was revieled that they refused me care in the hospital. That those designated to serve, protect, and heal _indiscriminatly_ would have left me to rot if left to their own devices."

To his own pronouncement Rufus Shinra grimaced, almost as startled and non-plussed by his own bitterness as the woman before him was.

"Man makes his own mircales." The Shirna concluded. "Just as he makes his own heros, his own gods, and his own way. The whole Mercy of the Planet is crap. Your hero of the hour... and your sponser I might add... Reeve Tuesti braved fire and worse to direct the upper plate evacuation. He stayed even though he cooked, tying electricle wires together with his own hands, breaking off parts of electronic odds and ends to serve as conducts to slashed and trampled lines. He saved hundreds of thousands of lives by staying in the Shirna building as it burned and repeating the obvious to the masses."

"And what did you do?" Michelle asked, not accusingly, but gently. To that the Shinra smirked.

"Like building like namesake. We both burned and bled I suppose. I wouldn't want you to quote me on that though, Ms. Michelle, I was out at the time." Rufus forced a laugh at the last.

To that the reported smiled, and Turk training besides Rufus couldn't tell if it was a fake smile or not.

"As being one of the most prodominante public figures, what would your recomendations to the public be concerning this... mass disapearence at..." She frowned at that, her face twisting as she fought to recall the name.

"Kalm?" Rufus supplied smoothly.

"Yes."

"If you are religious, you'd best pray, if you are a skeptic you best hope..." Rufus left the thought to dangle, shaking the ends of it off the tips of his fingers with a careless flick of his hand.

"For?" Michelle prompted him when it was obvious he would not continue unless pushed.

"That Reeve, and the official council of Edge knows what they are doing." Rufus finished cooly, finding his feet even as he spoke. "Because I know Reeve very well you see. Burning or crawling with demons, hell's still hell, and he'll endure hell and worse to save the people."

X

"She's waiting for us..."

He'd stared at his ceiling long and hard as those words ran round and round in his head.

"... heros are man made... we make our own"

Our own heros, and our own villians both. Consider Sephiroth, Wies, those twin figures of battle powess and immorality had been spawned from the recently deceased Hojo.

"I refuse. Your offer hinges on the expectation of me to abandon the people. I did not during the Deep Ground incident, I fought with the people. Again, during Alex's reign in Shinra and the AVALANCHE terrrorist situation I fought to save the people... Shinra and civilain both! Maybe I was a bit too reliant on Cait back then but I _helped a_nd I'll keep on helping people as much as I can so long as I live... I owe the world that much."

Such _help_ was synominous with _suicide_, he had said as much before and as expected Elena had said so much for him. Reeve had only smiled then, a sad little smile, and gently ordered her out. His fire all spent on one pittling thing too tiny to be a real explosion.

That fire, like all things of light it seemed, was to be pitted agaisnt the growing gloom that was nightfall.

High beams sweeping the roof Tseng's final turn scowered the length and bredth of the roof with illumination. What few small threads of black bent back into whisps of grey shade. The 'chopter's door clanged open the second the choptor's wheels his the cement. A white bundle was tossed inside and a black clad man hurried in right after, another clang, and the door slammed shut.

"We're clear!" Rude hollared, and with a jerk of his fisted hand indicated that it was time to be off. To that Tseng nodded, and pulled up on the lever. They lifted off, with a roar of blades scything through the air and the thunder of mako born fuel shaking his very bones.

Easing the limp form of Rufus Shinra so that Dark Nation could curl around it, Rude scent his dark eyes to combing the inside of the chopter not for dark -Nation's presence made that a futile task since the Panther-hound seemed to lounge in his own private night no matter the time of day- but for Elena.

"Where's Lany?" Rude yelled, fighting to be heard over the racket.

To that Tseng shook his head, freed one hand to tap the headset that was pressed against his ear. The Wutia Turk didn't bother to pull the set off though and that said everything.

As did Rude's gaze when he let it drop to the Turk's left hand and the golden ring that was set on the middle finger.

X

"Securities been breached. First floor to third."

A set of 'phones had been slapped over both Turks' ears. Rude had been listlessly tuning into the hiss of static and white noise but now a voice cut through it. A familiar voice talking in a familiar lit that screamed "I'm a Turk" without saying a thing. Lifting his head so he wasn't avidly staring at the floor Rude considered his boss's reaction. One eye was swollen shut -the kid had hit him that hard- with a gash over the swelling -a farewell gift of his busted shades- so to say the least Rude's scrutiny was half hearted at best.

But under that look Tseng... well he _flinched_.

"Breached how?"

The voice was smooth as silk though, flinch aside. Tseng was a bit horse from screaming over the whirl of blades and barking orders over the phone all day but his tone was steady and it had that faint Wutia purr that the ladies had once loved.

"Thier coming through the... the vent shafts... like oil... There's bodies all over the place with thier hearts ripped out... Bullet holes in the walls. Looks like some heavy duty fighting happened even thought the palce is as lit up as a neon sign."

"Target sighted?"

"Not yet, Tseng."

There was a lot of talk going back and forth here. More so than a normal Turk opperation. Lany had been written up a hundred times for yaking on the job too much, but now Tseng seemed to be encouraging her to talk up a storm. Questions tendered, descriptions demanded of, names to be noted... All the insignificant details that seemed important and were important only in the world of paperwork and files were being tossed back and forth between the two of them.

Greatly daring, Tseng pulled his hands away from the choptor's stick, rubbed them on the front of his uniform, and then took over the controls again. They shook ever-so as he went through the motions.

But they had shook, and half working eyes aside, Rude saw it.

And he, in turn, shook for the seeing.


	8. Pragmatic

The Brimstone Tower

Chapter 8

Pragmatic

_To my readers,_

_Written to "Dear Mr. Prseident" by Pink. Man, my notes are only eight pages, and from each page I'm pulling off a chapter and a half... I promise the Turks' will get out of Midgar, and to other places, and I promise it will be soon. So much for a "nice short" introduction, eh? _

_Kasan Soulblade._

Rufus would be out for a few hours at least. The beating and pain meds that had been pumped into his system would see to that. Curled around him, blue eyes a mystery, the panther hound purred contently into his master's ear, idly grooming the back of his master's head. Nodding bonelessly from the force of each lick the Shinra looked nothing more than a giant bobble head toy.

They'd argued about that, the dosing. Contenental and Wutia had stared each other down until the Wutia had thrown his senority around. To that Rude had laughed. Senority? Respect? What the hell did it all mean in a world gone mad?

To that insubordination there'd been no rages, no furies, no retrebution. Only a wry smile and a bit of Turk born truth.

"If we are taken, killed... Better one of us never wakes."

Hard words from a man who'd been tortured by Hojo's finest freak shows trio and left to rot. Hard words, hard truth, but it made Rude toe the line despite all his cynicalism.

"Pres must be something special to you." Rude said at last, folding to Tseng's will with a nod. He'd gotten to work then, fishing out needles out from the med kit that his seinor had packed. Meds and rations were piled in careful stacks in the back. Meticulously sorted by type all were marked with Shinra red and white.

What a farce, but farce or not Rude toed the line.

"If I could choose who wakes and who doesn't from this mad dream..." Tseng shook his head, his black hair trailing behind him. "But I have orders, as do you." Nodding to indicate the medicine in Rude's hand the Turk went back to making thier chopter circle round and round one building in Edge.

With Tseng busy Rude rolled the meds over in his hands. The meds were a needle tipped dart, not invasive by and Shinra Scientists mesure but definatly meant to be given against the person's will. Considering how self sustaining (or "macho-istic" if you asked Lany) the Turks and the President were... well meds that could be shot into someone weren't such a bad idea.

There'd been a lot left unsaid though, the least of that being that Tseng might look the other way from an "accidental" case of OD. blue eyes framed round by dark looked up at him, they glinted, sea blue and living, not corpse yellow like the eyes that glided around outside. A mew met his scrutiny, a mew and a paw that reached out to bat at his empty hand.

Taking the President's hand in his own, Rude set down the meds and rolled up the kid's sleeve.

"You don't save the freakin' world by pushing up daisies, sir."

Tseng didn't respond, didn't seem to hear, and Rufus was out for the count. Only blue eyes, the blue found in the guts twilight right before the dark came, considered him with unblinking scrutiny. Taking that limp arm in a tight one handed grip the Turk picked the needle up from the floor.

"Sets a bad company image, isn't that what you said, sir?" Rude continued conversationally, putting the needle against palid skin. "Bad work ethic and all that."

The needle sunk home and the kid was doped up. Only that one dose would sink home, Rude promised himself, only one does, not two or three "just to be sure".

And what crap Tseng would pull to salvage his own consiounce... Well that was between Tseng and that snake thing the Wutia worshiped. It would never be between Tseng and the President, not so long as Rude was on watch.

X

The door wasn't even locked, it swung open at her touch. Reeve was a trusting man with a hopefull soul, even with the world ending he hadn't bothered with the lock.

The office was simple, airy, with no obscuring walls beyond the requisit four to hold up the roof and the buildings structural entegrity. Reeve had had his desk shunted into the back corner, the paper cluttered mess on it's top was conspicuously missing, it's tenant vacant. And around her, on all sides, was an army of eyes...

Not those demon eyes, those yellow pits with snaking limbs that ended in oily claws. No, these eyes were blue and green, brown and black, the familiar hues of oridinary... even mundane... humanity. She turned slowly, surrealy taking in the scene. Avalanche member stood placidly by Shinra employee, Turk besides the late President, mechanical aide and product besides a faded image of the Gainsborough residence. People and places, Shinra, Midgar, or Edge born were side by side. Thier place in the grand scheme was... untraditional. Some of the images were centered as was proper, others were in clusters, overlapping, of hanging from thin wires from the ceiling.

Surrounded by those he knew, those he'd heard of, ringed round by heros and villans alike, Reeve Tuesti had gone to work like it had been every other day. He'd entered this building in the morning and directed the people of Edge to sanctuary through the light hours, not bothering to join them before night fall. Eschewing saftey for the easy access of information and the contacts of his office he'd openly declaired his plan on staying here through the night.

"I'm not a warrior -the Deep Ground incident taught me that- but from here I'll have a view. I'll be able to see what's going on and if the lines hold through the night I'll be in contact with those below."

Shaking her head, Elena had almost laughed, almost. Seeing the quirk of her lips Reeve had continued, his dark eyes bright with amusement.

"I'm all set, Ms. Turk, prepared to a measure that would astond Tseng himself!" Lips curled up, slanted eyes merry, Reeve pointed to his bare desk. "All the damning papers are in the shreader, the evidence is squirled away for my access only, I've got coffee in the brewer ready to be poured before sunset, a redy supply of cups, clips, a gun, and Cait Sith."

To that she had groaned, as did all the Turks and most of AVALANCHE when Cait Sith was mentioned.

To the memory though, Elena merely smiled.

Her smile widened a bit more when she wove through the emptyness to his desk. No body lay crumpled behind it, no trace of his coming or going was present save that his chair was slightly eskew, as if he'd hopped to his feet and slipped outside without bothering to push it back in place. Absently Elena fixed the oversight, then reached to the almost bare desk, taking up the folded piece of paper that rested on the wooden span's center.

It was one simple line, this wasn't Reeve Tuesti's final will and testiment, after all. Merely an afterthought... A note addressed to his would be rescuer. He'd even set her name on one of the halves, anticipating Tseng's orders before she had.

"Elena,

Out of my mind, back in ten minutes,

Reeve Tuesti"

Thought her hands shook, for she was both laughting and crying all at once, Elena managed to set the note back where Reeve had left it.


	9. Night Shift

The Brimstone Tower

The Brimstone Tower

Chapter 9

The Night Shift

_To my readers_

_A loong update on my end. Sorry about not cutting it off sooner, this was going to be two chapters but I melded it into one because it didn't... well it didn't look right as a single chapter entry. It just didn't feel complete. Written to Uninvited._

_Kasan Soulblade_

Humanity is an odd animal due to it's attachment to the material. Be it place or person or a humble item, the physical -for them- is saturated in nostalgia not practical. Such odd animals, Nanaki of Avalanche had noted once in the President's hearing, humanity. Curled about Dark Nation, seeking warmth and shelter from the glaring cold electrical lights strung around the 'copter, the most powerful man of Gaia seemed like a child. Small, pale, and impotent when compared to all the horrors outside.

He slept through the touchdown, slept on as Elena boarded the helicopter with some sharp edge package tucked under her arm, snoozed through the tense exchange that marked the two Turk's reunion.

"Souvenir hunting, Mrs. Elena?" Tseng noted in a chilly tone as he saw the edge of... glass... and a flash of color when her boarding pulled back to revel the tip of her souvenir.

Her lips curled into a tight smile, Elena shook her head. "Hardly."

"Survivors?"

"Target's dead sir, the others... were dictated as inconsequential if I recall protocol properly."

Biting his lower lip so he wouldn't snap what he thought of their precious protocol Rude reached settled for reaching out and tapped Tseng on the shoulder. To the older Turk's curious look, Rude managed a curt.

"I'll take over flying... sir." _That way I don't beat you to a bloody pulp with my two hands._ "You two should catch up in the back."

Tseng considered that, read between the lines and found many statements and layers of exasperation and frustration.

"Yes," Eyes not leaving Elena's face, the Wutia nodded. "We should go somewhere private to have our... chat."

Not one to be phased by her lover's wintry overture, Elena nodded in turn. "Thank you Rude." The blonde woman murmured as Rude took the place Tseng abandoned.

To her comment Tseng stiffened, outrage pinching his nostrils and making his face go white, but to her gratitude Rude managed a ghost of a smirk and a smile.

"Play nice." The Turk advised, slapping the headset over his ears before Tseng could come up with a rebuttal of any kind. Because if the Wutia said the wrong word Rude would punch the man's lights out and love doing it.

For the sake of living through this, Rude was going to have a keep a cap on his temper. Clearly Tseng drew the same conclusion, because the man didn't push it.

XXX

The argument was quiet and vehement, a flawless melding of Wutia reserve and Contental straightforwardness. Having pulled off the headset when his skull began to ache and the white noise on the other line played with his last nerve, Rude found himself treated to eavesdropping on a tail end of a fight he didn't get.

It wasn't that he couldn't hear them, -they were quiet but not_ that_ quiet- nor was it that they were talking like a pair of corporate lawyers in the throes of legal nitpicks... No, it wasn't the way they talked, but the language they used. A Continental through and through Rude found the Wutia babbling annoying to say the least. Never mind he was a Turk and he was supposed to be beyond such pettiness, Rude was a victim of his own prejudices, and he couldn't help his thoughts. If asked he'd compare the harsh language the "happy" couple used to the barking of two errata dogs.

Oblivious to his thoughts they wrangled on some mysterious point, and things were getting more and more heated. Elena couldn't sit still when angry, and though sitting she was all but dancing in place due to her feelings. Tseng was the opposite, still as stone, eyes unblinking, using his voice and gaze to meet Lany's passionate rage with his own ice sheathed frustrations.

And like fire on ice, the meeting was explosive. Their voices were rising, Tseng's hands were clenching even as Lany waved her hands over her head to make a point.

"Are you done yet, Elena?" Tseng snapped, switching to the Continental tongue, much to Rude's discomfort.

"I just thought you'd like to know what I thought of your plans, that's' all." Lany purred her voice slick with honeyed venom.

"My... lack of humanitarian effort..." Tseng said slowly, drawing a deep breath he plunged ahead. "...is a side effect of training. You should know that." The Wutia continued, his lips quirked into a wry smile. "After all, we both were trained to be Shinra's finest."

"We've had that talk." Lany pointed out, almost spearing Tseng with her finger. She stopped the digit short of a poke, allowed it to linger closely over the Wutia's chest.

"Many times." Tseng conceded with the barest of nods, then looking beyond Elena he spotted Rude staring at them. "Don't you have something more important to do, than watch a private display?" The Wutia snapped, a hint of steel creeping into his tone.

Rude whipped his head forward, went back to staring at the sky. No steering needed for this, since they'd all agreed to let the copter run on autopilot the whole night. Rude could have forgone even sitting at the pilot's chair now that they were clear of Midgar and Edge, but paranoia -a rampant ant epidemic in the Turk wing- that the blasted thing would fail the second they turned their backs on it had left the Turks with no choice but to set a man in front of it to watch the control panel. Rude had volunteered for first shift since Tseng and Lany clearly had fish to fry, Tseng was going to take the second watch, as well as pick where they were going to land for fuel...

A clearing of the throat from the back sounded, only that... With a resigned sigh Rude picked up the headphone and snapped them over his ears, aching skull and smarting eardrums aside, Rude knew better than to protest when the boss used _that_ tone.

XXX

She lay on her side, eyes closed, lips parted, as if the tail end of a word dangled from those lips even while asleep. A click and clatter told him that Rude had taken the headset off again.

"Problem?"

"Headache." Rude explained.

Not bothering to look up, Tseng draped an arm over Lany's waist. She stirred in her sleep at his touch, half woke, then when recognition came she surrendered to slumber's embrace once more.

"How's the kid?"

"Still sleeping the meds off," Tseng explained, too weary to bother correcting Rude's flippant address of their president. "There was a powerful sedative in them."

"Nation?"

"Sleeping."

Silence fell, tense, angry, apathetic, it all depended on what side you looked at it from. Closing his eyes, Tseng sighed, savored Elena's scent, her presence, and the warmth as she curled against him.

"What's the problem, Turk?" Tseng said again.

Once more, Rude's silence was hostile, and to that Tseng let out a soft, bitter, laugh.

"I'm not Reno, Rude. I can't read your silence and put words to it. You're going to have to do your own talking one of these days, you've lost your voice, you know."

The click that sounded, the familiar metallic clack of the safety being pulled served as the period of Tseng's sentiment. A... forced punctuation mark, if one must call it that. Quirking lips formed a sad smile, Tseng opened his eyes, looked up to consider Rude. Chin resting on Elena's hair, arm still folded around her waist, he was at his most vulnerable. He should have been fighting to his feet, sounding the alarm, going for his weapon.

He did nothing, nothing save watch Rude and stare at the gun leveled at his head.

"Shooting at such close range is... touch and go at best." The Wutia Turk protested in his most mild of tones. "Recoil, you understand."

"You want them dead." Rude hissed.

"Who?" Tseng queered.

"Lany, the President... you've all but told me to kill the kid, you all but killed Lany with your orders."

"My orders were gauged to my expectations of the situation and my estimate of my people's skills." Tseng countered his eyes never leaving the gun that was pointed at him. "I'd never have sent Reno into that cave if I'd expected any resistance. And it wasn't as if he went alone." Tseng continued, his voice it's most cultured, his tone it's most reasonable. "What else could I have done? How many more should I have sent to a "safe" "abandoned" crevice on the northern tip of the world? I sent a small army in with Reno, SOLDIER and WRO persons, and AVALANCHE members... What else would have pleased you?"

The gun's head wavered as the hand holding it shook.

"Desperate times warrant desperate measures." The Wutia reminded him. "In world's ending... we all are expendable. All of us."

Teeth smashed together in rage, the gun lifted, the shaking stopped.

"If you pull that trigger you'll not only kill me, but Elena. And if you succeed in killing me alone do you think that Elena would be content to let things stand? She'd try to kill you." Tseng paused, eyes abstract as he considered _something_. "So would Rufus, I think. And you, Rude, you are Turk enough to defend yourself against any assault." Idly the Wutia's grip tightened, to draw Elena close. "Chances are you'd probably kill one of them in your own defense. The other would have all the motive in the world to kill you in turn, and if they didn't you'd be all alone on this Gaia turned hell."

The shaking had started again, unmoved Tseng set his chin on his wife's head, folded his frame into repose.

"Does that please you? For all of us to die as he did?"

The weapon slid through placid fingers even as the arm that supported it went slack. Knees buckling Rude collapsed on himself with a pathetic sound that might have been a precursor to tears.

Closing his eyes Tseng said nothing, did nothing. He merely savored the dark behind his eyes, the broken quiet. There was a peace in non-being, strength in his utter stillness. He savored both, then cracked his eye open, to best contemplate the downed Turk.

Losing a partner was hard. They served as your shadow on and off the clock. The cover to your back that could be trusted, your check, their balance... Partnerships in the Turks were powerful things and the death of one member often meant the death of the other.

Usually by suicide.

He'd seen and experienced a partnership from both ends. His shadow had been Veld, and when his orders had come down from the executive branch to "forcibly demote" the aging Turk...

Well, he hadn't died, but what remained of his humanity had been washed away in the throes of his grief.

"Rude." Red lined eyes looked up at him, Tseng, in turn, considered those eyes and the mind behind them. Decision reached Tseng searched, found, and grasped Elena's hand. He held it tight. "Get back to work."

Back stiffened with hate Rude glared down at Tseng, fingered his gun... then with a heated oath shoved the weapon back into its holster.

XXX

Morning meant Rude turning in. When the molten grey rimmed the horizon he wasn't so wound up that he was seeing double and starting at shadows. He yawned a great deal though, much to Elena's open amusement. She laughed at him, called his gaping jaws "Dual-hornish", asking if he wanted some cud to chew. Never mind she was as gap mouthed as he was, and her eyes were a little glazed. Even whilst teasing Elena was running both hands through her hair, clearly friction was the girl's response to a morning without coffee. Rude managed a ghost of a smile to the woman's banter.

Proving the saying that yawns were contagious, Rufus started yawning when Rude and Elena did. Threatening a pay dock if the Turks didn't "stop that infernal -yawn- yawning this second". Rufus proved to the Turks that he was no morning person. Granted, they all knew that, but having it proved again didn't hurt anything.

Managing greetings that consisted of grunted "'Morning" to all round Rude had even unbent enough to greet the Panther Hound. The beast didn't look up, continued to groom his fore paw with the same meticulous strokes it'd used on Rufus' head. The expression as Rufus discovered his pet's attentions had given him a case of "Cloud Head" was golden, and to that Rude's ghost smile widened until it was almost genuine.

He did not look at Tseng, however.

Pealing off his coat, Rude laid it out as a shoddy half blanket; Lany pulled off her own vest, tossed it to the reclining Turk, and told him to use it as a pillow. Rude did as told, following the rookies instructions without a breath of protest or nod of gratitude.

"What's this?" Spotting the edge of glass and flash of color, Rufus found the item Lany had smuggled in.

"Just something I picked up from Reeve's office..." Lany murmured, her tone a bit too innocent to be genuine. She moved to snatch up the spoils, but Rufus was more awake than he let on. He held on it tight and easily danced out of Lany's grasping hands.

"Oh really..."

"Give it, Mr. President!"

With a sigh Tseng took his place as pilot, muttering something about children.

"I outrank you, Mrs. Tseng. You can't order me to do anything I don't want to." Rufus shot back.

The President sounded like a twelve years old when he talked like that...

Clearly the tone was enough to inspire bad memories on Tseng's end. Even though he was obscured by the bulk of the pilot's chair Rude could see Tseng's back go stiff... or rather Rude figured that the man's back had gone stiff when his head jerked a bit. All but ripping the headset out of the control panel with his grab Tseng snapped the 'phones over his ears and hunched into the chair.

Rolling over so his back was to the Wutai Turk, Rude got the prime seat for watching President and Lany's fight.

"Must be an old picture, considering it's a pic of Midgar." The Shinra noted slyly, he held the picture in front of him, as if it was a shield. The image away from the President, but faced his assailant... and Rude.

"Give... it..." Elena snarled, her fingers curling into claws.

"Must of been one bad hair day you had if you're that..."

Elena lunged, Rufus sidestepped, and Rude winced as the blonde fell on Dark Nation. The scene became a confusion of paws, tentacle, and more human limbs as Nation happily reached for the Turk that had tumbled into his sleeping spot.

"Ever the clutz." Rufus noted to no one in particular. Content in his victory, Rufus turned his prize over in his hands so he could better gloat over the spoils. He considered the picture, with it's slate gray sky, the details picked out by green tinted mako lights... and began to laugh.

To that Rude only curled tightly on himself, his eyes scrunched up as he tried to will himself to sleep. It was an old picture, an old image that had once found it's home in Tseng's office. The only picture that the Wutia Turk had indulged in, actually. Unlike most executives Tseng had had no "family pictures" or "inspirational modules" to fill the walls of his office. His work place had been bare of any decoration, except for one indulgence in image form, and that was a photo from after the bombing of the Turk's Tower based HQ.

HQ had once been in the Shinra building, a indiscretion of loyalties by Alex Shinra had lead to outbreak of guerilla warfare. Every Turk had gone into hiding with clandestine orders... save Tseng. For once the Wutia had acted in the public eye, threatening, cajoling, and assassinating. He'd commanded every surviving Turk to do the same, and a subtle war on the Shinra executives, security, SOLDIERs, and scientists had been waged.

What a shoddy conflict this "war" of theirs had been. A slap on the wrist in return for a stab in the back. At least that's what Rude had said to Reno. Reno -who had had orders to burn Shinra mansion to the ground- was perfectly content with his end of the retribution efforts. But, then again, burning things and people to the dirt made Reno happy.

Some people were easier to please than other.

Anyway, after the skiff with the big wig Shinra executives no one -from Tseng on down- had been content to keep the Turk HQ in the Shinra building. So the classified files, the confidential information, and ninety eight percent of the Turks had moved out. Happy to actually be able to openly support his most powerful backers, Rufus had sliced a huge lump out of his private account to finance the Turk's "moving out" efforts.

Intrigued by all the activity Reeve, busybody that he was, had amused himself by following the Turks around and pestering them with questions. Tuesti had even followed Rude down two stories nattering inanities like "What in Holy is going on?" before the stoic Turk had lost his temper. Granted, he hadn't punched Reeve's lights out -he'd been too busy holding Reno back from doing that for him- but he had told the man to ask Tseng, not him, for details.

Reeve had done so, and Tseng, worn and stressed by executive and public attentions, had actually slipped enough to tell half the truth. Yes the turks were moving out, no he didn't need any civilians to help, and he'd concluded the whole meeting with a curt "get out, now" that was loaded down with overtures of, "I'll shoot you if you don't".

Unfazed by Tseng's chill attitude Reeve had been content to let things stand, at least until the Turks were almost settled in their new headquarters. Once satisfied that they were distant from the mechanics of Shinra, the Turk's had opened shop. The first plate's manufacturing district had become their HQ, and it had the convenience of low rent as well as being one hell of a ways away from the Shinra Tower.

That was when Reeve had struck. Spouting civilian niceties like "an opening day event" and the like, Tuesti had wanted to throw a party to honor the event. Rufus had been no help in that fight, finding the whole scenario hilarious he'd pled neutrality and ran to the nearest seat to watch the show.

And show it had been.

The sparks between Tseng and Reeve had flown. Turks were secretive, closemouthed, a clandestine organization, no one in their right mind was going to throw a party for them moving into a neighborhood. Property value of the surrounding homes and business would drop to an abysmal low if they announced their location. But for Reeve that didn't matter. It was all about company closeness, about how they should celebrate the Turk's rise in status.

"Not everyone's so well off to move out of the Tower." Reeve had pointed out time and time again. "We're all clumped there for economic reasons, you know. Not every department likes having a closet to work from..."

And so on and so forth.

Finally Tseng had folded just to shut the man up. He'd announced an "opening day" once everything was set and had herded his busy people to the building's front one random Monday morning. There, perched on stairs and backed by cement walls, they'd stood for one shooting, one picture, had been every Turk in the Shinra corporation. Well... all the Turks loyal to Tseng, anyway. Those remnants from Heidegger's run of the organization hadn't gotten the memo to meet out front for some reason.

Tseng hadn't even hired an official photographer, he bought one of those self shooting cameras and put it on a slight rise by the front of the building. Not exactly a recipe for a centered picture, but getting it over with had been Tseng's primary concern. Picture perfect... or rather the perfect picture, was secondary, if even that high on the priority list.

Reeve, picking up on Tseng's obvious disdain for the event, had come just in time to save the day. Seeing the first sham of a picture before Tseng could claim it was classified and burn it, Reeve had become annoyed. Acting quickly the executive had commandeered the camera and ordered the drifting Turk personnel back in place. Amused, the Turks had followed Reeve's orders to a man. Amazed, Tseng hadn't been able to even mouth a protest at Reeve's sudden surge of spine.

"We are doing this right. Now, get in there." Reeve had mock growled, firmly propelling the protesting Wutia in his place.

After a few pictures of the group Tseng had dismissed his people. Reno, bored with Tseng's lack of company spirit had snatched up the camera then. He had snapped a few pictures of himself, Rude, and Lany, before Tseng had stepped in to take the device and given it back to Reeve.

"You..." Tseng had growled, turning on the red head Turk with murder in his eyes.

"What?" Reno mocked. "Ya camera shy Tsengy?"

"You're a dead man R-"

"Elena, Rude, why don't you join them?" Reeve had all but chirped. "Rufus asked for a picture with the four of you in it anyway."

"Rufus said _what_!" Tseng snarled.

Since they were more or less in position anyway Reeve had taken the oportunity to snap one last photo before darting off.

"Runs fast for an Executive." Lany had noted dryly.

"...Agreed..." Rude said, volunteering his comment of the day without a fight.

"Damn, the world's ending' somewhere partner." Catching Elena's confused look Reno elaborated. "Rude don't talk less something big 's going down, then it's normally just one syllable. We got two out of him. That means the ends not far off."

Closing his eyes so tight that they hurt, Rude tried to will himself to sleep. To tone out the banter between Turk and President and the remembered banter of Turk on Turk. For once, call it mercy of the planet or just human need, black oblivion came over him without a fight.

He slept, his private dark not marred with the sight of yellow eyes.


	10. Logic of Dreams

The Brimstone Tower

Chapter 10 

The logic of dreams

The path was abandoned, though another had tread it some short time ago. Looking up he could see thin lines of black against a starless night sky. Impossible, perhaps, since there was no contrast between the two blacks, both were so stark they hurt and melded in his vision. But for the time being such mundane impossiblities such as physics and vision were irrelevent.

Such is the logic of dreams.

Spying darkest black on darkest black was the least of this dreams illogical points. The earth was sheathed in glass, fragments and chunks had rained from above, a rainbow rain that had fallen around him without making so much as a line of red on his skin. He'd watched, numb, at this glitter color's fall. It was as if every piece of glass, every panel upon the world, ever window of the Tower, had been broken only to fall down.

Looking up he could see the fall, could see the red and green, the yellows and blacks, the blues and indigos descend. And in falling they caught the mao light, from color to irridescent flash. The sky was alive with falling stars, some silver tinted, some green edged, a few -so few- were streaked with the supposed purity of yellow-gold...

Looking down the fragments of the world, all the looking glasses, the televisions, the ruins of his Tower, all of it condensed before to meld into a winding jagged road. Unprompted, he began to walk the offered road. Setting his feet against the razor edges and grinding down the images still caught in the glass under his heel.

Such were the peticulaities of his little stroll.

About him, above, lost in black so dark there could be no splicing pillar from dark, was the charred fondations of the world. He couldn't see them, never that, but he knew they were there. And that was enough for now.

XXX

"The door has opened."

Lifting her head she looked around. But at this place and time she was without sight, not merely blind... but denied vision by some maligant force beyond her comprehension. As a child would, she reached for the warmth at her side. What she expected she did not find, and she shivered, not from chills, but from fear.

"A door to the darkness..."

She turned to confront the speaker. Aching to let out some bravado to prove to herself her own courage if nothing else. But like sight, speach was denied her. She was smothered by the impenitrable dark, smothered... and drowning.

"This world has been conected, tied to the..."

The dark... For that was all that was left of this world, dark upon dark, until life and light were ground out.

XXX

Back to back, stone stood between them. Featured stone marred with compasionate faces made mad by wisdom's weight. But those facades of gentle sorrow and those all knowing mad eyes were lost to him. The sun was setting, he sighed at the dark, tracing the remaining lines of crimson that had become his horizon. The door was a red rimmed blur, with his pulse came th bluring of vision, the loss of coherance.

Footsteps cut a hard stacato... it's rythm a stark contrast to his own faultering heart. Annoyed he looked up, wondering what she wanted _now_.

"You're rather snippy for someone who just came over to say hi."

"This visit... was unintended."

Old words said between them a lifetime ago in slate skied Midgar. Or rather his old lifetime... lifestyle... ago. It was his end and her begining. How ironic that it was the end of his old way and the dawn of his new and for her this meeting had been the morning of her final year.

Always they traded in old conversations, nattering at each other, subtly fencing, bantering, and always the stone pillar stood between them. Some of thier conversations were clearer than others, some were red hazes, snippits of talk exchanged as he patiently died and a few -so very few!- took place in the chapel, in a when and where where they were both whole and young.

Always they talked, thier lines prearanged like actors in a play.

"You'll take her home?"

"Only if you come without a fight."

"We're friends, right?" She murrmurred, uncertianly. Loking beyond him, past him, as if he didn't matter. Her choice of words were damning, for they were ironic and iconic.

"I am a Turk, I may only have aquaintences."

"It's the same thing." She insisted."

"Hardly."

"We're friends, right?" She repeated, a hint of steel in her tone.

"Fine." Letting his Wutai reserve drop, the words came out in a rush. "If it makes you so damned happy, _yes_ we are friends_._ Just-"

"-don't call me that in public!" She cheered, finishing his scentence for him.

She laughed, he sighed, it was the way things were between them, here, now, and always.

"You know... Tseng."

Hesitance, that was new. Even before being sent to the labs she hadn't been hesitant. Defiant, reluctant... but never this timid. He meant to rise, but could only lean back against the stone. The red that ran from his abused side was rushing out in a crimson torrent.

"The dark... it's not so bad to the north."

XXX

Fists couldn't dent what you couldn't see. Rage coudln't bring down the undefinable no matter how much you hated it. Sides heaving, he gulped and gasped, feeling whipped from slugging at the air around him and hitting something that hit back hard.

"You who knows nothing, can learn nothing. An ironic little delema, isn't it? We are all born ignorant, and thus we all die impotent. Every single one of us."

It laughed and he roared. This time he'd throtle it! To hell with punching!

Hands closed around his throat before he could make his move.

XXX

"Easy... easy."

He always talked to the helicoptor, as if it were a thing influneced by charisma, as if he could sooth it to better flight with words and tone... Perhads he could. Or rather, maybe he had. Touchdown was smooth, with a minimal amount of skid, a second later the blades began to slow. For better or worse they were grounded. A look at the fuel gauge telling him that they weren't going to be get off the ground again until they'd filled the tank. Acting ignorant of thier situation, Tseng had had snapped open his cell phone as if it was anyother day. A few taps of the keypad later and he set the device to his ear, listening. In listening the Turk relaxed, leaning against the steel side of the helicoptor even as Rude and Elena took thier places be either side of the door. A few moments Tseng shook his head, folded the phone and put it in his pocket even as he pulled away from the steel wall.

"No signal. It's not busy, or down, just dead."

Ominous words considering the scene they had abandoned last night. Turk and President considered the what they had seen and what they could expect. It should have been a scene out of some macho movie. Two alpha leads contemplating who would lead and who would finally settle for his position to beta. There should have been friction, tension, a sense of forboding, an overcast sky...

That's the way the world ended in all the movies.

The skys were clear, sunny even, and the only thing that screamed "unnatural" was the silence. The quiet was easily explained though considering that either the whole airport was abandoned... or worse.

"Mr. President?" Tseng prompted always the image of perfected posture. Arms were clasped behind his back the Wutia met the eyes of his lord and waited for orders.

"We'll take a look. Weapons out, comunications open." Talking hurt compliments of Rude's fist last night. Hurt meant living, and living meant not dead, so Rufus wasn't complaining.

"Shoot any who attack you first, ask questions later." Tseng added grimly. "Elena, you finished college, did any of those courses involve helicoptor refueling?"

"Computer sciences, Masters." Elena explained, Tseng only shrugged, indicating his ignorance and indifference in one move. "If I can find the master control I might be able to work out something." She clarified.

"Rude, go with her. Tseng and I will scope out the rest of the airport, look for survivors and supplies." Rufus ordered, then rubbing his jaw to hide the slight quirk of his lips the President looked from his Turks to his Panther-hound. "Lane, you get to walk 'Nation."

Ears perked up at that promise... well one set of ears anyway.

"Why me?" The Rookie whined.

"Because he likes you."

Dark Nation wagged both tail and tenticle high as if to illistrate the point. Muttering a curse Elena snatched the leash from where it lay on the floor. Feeling the familiar tug of the leash Nation looked over his shoulder, his blue eye tracing the path of leather, seeing that the loop ended in Elena's hand the panther hound let out a happy bark. Seeing all was in order Rufus let himself out of the grounded chopter first, Tseng only one step behind.

"He likes _electricuting_ me." The Turk growled under her breath.

"Don't scream." Rude suggested.

"What do you mean, don't scream? How can you _not_ scream when you get electricuted?"

"Bite your tongue."

"It'd bite right though it." Elena protested.

Rude's wordless shrug and minimal smirk made Elena wonder if she was having her leg pulled. Rude, not one to let on either way, hopped out of the helicoptor and waited for his team mate to disimbark.

XXX

Once members of an unique society the had dined and wined with the most powerfull people of thier time. Renowned as gunslinger of the highest order, a Turk with thier gun drawn was a sight that inspired terror.

That was then, the past, a once upon a time agone, and the present was as bitter and stark as the world about them.

It was a new world that they found themselves thrust into, a newness protracted by a limited view. The helicoptor's windows were glazed, bullet proof, and at the best and brightest of sunny days added a gloom grey skin to the world. So it was double the impact, double the shock when they disembarked. Gaia was difficult to recognise as thier own, the corners of the sky were licked with a purple haze, the sun was distant and dim. As they made thier way the thinest skins of shade stirred as they approuched, stirred and reached... Little wonder after a few moments of wandering that one order was reconcined, another added on.

"No wandering, we stay together as a group."

Wending thier way down an abandoned runway, they skirted around the edges the long shadows cast by the still, silent, planes. In the place of guns were flashlights. Caloused hands gripped the plastic with a hold so tight that the fingers clasped over them went ached.

XXX

In the end they hadn't needed thier guns, not once. Everything was silent, still, the airport all but abadoned. Only the many many piles of clothes left strewn about had made them forsake the fond delusion that the place was new built and had been unstaffed. Compost of the human sort was... non existant. That was one of the particularities of thier world. There were no goulish sights of half decayed corspses of any nature on Gaia. The lifestream was a quick acting entity that absorbed it's lost children with shocking speed. The prone form of the fallen would begin to unravel even as a hardned survivor, a triumphant victor, a grieving soul, could begin to even realize the other's death.

Thus the strewn piles of clothes weren't an omen of some derrainged laundry lady's break down. The discarded garments bespoke of tragedy, it's scope easily calculated if one bothered to count the clothes. A hastily done sweep confirmed the obvious, there were no survivors. Either killed by the shadowy creatures or by thier own hands once they saw death approuching, the people of Palma Costa's airport were gone. And they weren't the oly to simply vanish. Animal carriers stood empty in neat little rows, some in the plane, others in the waiting area.

Claw marks - from within the cages and without- left little doubt of what had caused the animals passing and that flight had been atempted. Dark Nation curiously sniffed at the on of the empty cages. It was large enough to hold a creature twice the panther hound's size. Doggish face pressed against, black nostrils flaring, the panther hound sniffed and snuffed at the metal until his nose left a wet smudge on the bars.

Elena had called him back then, tugged at the leash until the pantherhound had abandoned his sport of sniffing. With a subdued whine Nation pulled away, his blue eyes still curious and hurt. Once sure that no one was looking Elena set her hands over the creature's head, scritched at one pointed ear.

With a deep rumble Nation leaned into the petting his tenticle lashing out in pleasure it smacked into a small cage and sent it tumbling down.

After incident that Rude was given the leash, nevermind Dark Nation's howls of protest.

XXX

From main computer tower to convience store, they wandered, a tight nit pack of sorts. Stealing what they dubbed nessescary and taking all they could carry. Fuel wasn't the only thing they lacked. Tseng had managed to put a few days worth of clothes, medicine, and food in the helicoptor before lifting off, but he'd been pressed for time.

Even at the world's ending the Wutia Turk berated himself for every oversight, no matter how small. And ever the opportunist, Rufus teased and mocked his Turk, and found a way to have some fun.

XXX

Reeking of gasoline with a tang of mako -the fuel of Rufus Shinra's helicoptor was hardly WRO approved- hanging about them the boarded the helicoptor an hour before sunset. The shadows now danced whether any walked by them or not. The last half mile across the runway had been a hellish run with the dark tugging at the soles of thier shoes with every foot raised. The boarding had been a scramble to sanctuary, rank, station, forsaken in that last rush.

Only when the door had slammed shut and the lights had flickered to sullen life did they pause to consider. Weary eyes looked to grim faces for something... maybe hope. Finally, when the dark smashed against the steel of thier sanctuary Rude spoke.

"Now what?"

"We go North." Tseng sighed. "Up and North, and we don't look back."


	11. Untitled, will take sugestions!

The Brimstone Tower

Chapter 11 

_A/N: Chapter was written to "Never too late", by three day's grace. Having some problem getting time to write, my schedules been turned upside down, but I plan to update again on Sunday. This marks the end of my pre-made notes, hopefully you've enjoye the story thus far... as for me, it's to the drawing board._

Shrouded in colors associated with ghosts, and milk, and other sickly looking things, he had taken his place at the helicoptor's grey tinted window. The world drifted under him, drifted by, he looked neither forward nor up, his gaze was fixed on what little bit of the groudn he coudl make past the wisps of cloud. Nod in duties direction complete, the President of Shinra Electric Power had taken his place at the window and after one look down and hadn't bothered to look up.

_The wound was black on black, the color of rot with the shape of a bruise. An accident he claimed, a bad fall while in therepy. he'd had many of those. Despite the massive dose of healing materia and the rushed corrective surgeries and the best health care gil could provide his recovery hadn't been quick or painless. In the damp he'd always limp, and his balance was a bit more touchy taht it should have been in a twenty something year old..._

_At twenty three Rufus Shinra would be forced to learn how to walk again. For months a cane's steel grip would dig into the palm of his hand rather than the grip of a gun._

_Still, such stark truths hadn't deturned him, the injuries were... inconsequencial, at least until they had been at first_.

The earth was black, as black as a bruise. The rim of the world's wound was swollen, the heart stirred with that failiar, dead yellow light. In contrast the sky was that surreal blue that non-Midgarian's called "normal" or "clear". Licking at the rails of the helicoptor were lazy snakes of white. They hid thier swollen grey guts by having them face the earth, but the familiar -if aonizing- throb in Rufus' leg told him that those guts were so swollen they were ready to burst.

"Northern crater coming up, sir."

Not a nod or a blink did the President give. He could have been that pale, shell shocked, form laying on the hospital bed after his diagnosis he was so... sick looking.

_"It's... It was unheard of. We've no historical documentation of anything like it. It's a sick little disease... if micro-organisms could be sadistic, this one is that."_

"Considering the son, I'm not supised by that." Rufus murmurred, running one hand down his leg, the motion did nothing to sooth the fires that had wrapped around the bone and were tightening.

_"Reverse osmosis, it's all I can think to call it." Catching the clueless vibe of his grim audiance the doctor dropped the jargon and the facade of profesionallism. He was a small man, pale from living in Midgar all his life, his life was defined by long hours for short pay. So long ago the man had given up a normal life for one of endless strain so he could play at being God._

_The marks of his life were the pernament grey smudges around his eyes, the sunken listless quality of his eyes, and a cool air of utter indifference._

_Now the mask was down, the indifference was gone and the quiet little man before them stood like a prophet of the olden tales. The ones that brought death and woe, who told tales of destruction that smothered hope._

_"Osmosis is when the cell sucks down water, takes a drink, you get my drift." Arms clasped behind his back the doctor took a step back -towards the door. Fuile motion that. He was surrounded by black clad men and women, and every black clad person in that room was armed with the nastiest materia and weapons Shinra's weapon department could provide. "Now reverse osmisis, that's nasty, but throwing up always is. Basically the cell spits up what it don't want when it puts osmosis in reverse, and that's what your whole body is doing. You see, those aren't bruises boy, they're signs of rot."_

_Silence descended, punctured by a hiss of rage. Black eyes pressed into slits, Tseng set his hand over the gun strapped to his side._

_"The rot's _under_ the skin, you see. And like all things rotten, there's a bit of gas released, that gas goes up, pressing against a thin skin of nervvs and skin that the disease don't touch... That's what's causing the swells and brusing."_

_"Is there a cure?" Rufus managed to ask._

_"N-"_

_In a motion too quick for the eye to follow the gun slid out of the holster, the trigger was pulled, and thunder of artificual birth made the ears of everyone present ring._

_Well the ringing echoed in the ears of everyone living at least._

_Dying in silence, the doctor's last sylible of denial was left to dribble past lips in a morass of gummy red. Having rid the world o one prophet of the twisted sort Tseng set his warm gun in it's holster. __Not one of them protested, not even when the body hit the earth with a dull thump._

_"No cure my ass." Reno spat, hacking a wad of spit on the carrion. "Like hell there aint!"_

"Mr. President."

Shaking his head, Rufus looked up and away from the wounded rim of the crater. The vacant manner of his eyes told them all that he hadn't seen a thing for a while. Little surprise considering how the window was fogged up. Forget the end of the world, phyisical laws were still playing out to their normal fare even to the end.

"It's going to be cold in the crater. If I may I recomend a coat of sturdier stuff than you're garbed in now to ward against the chill?" The Wutia Turk asked his lord with utmost delicate-ness.

Around him the Turks were already dressed in thick furs and awkward gloves.

_The world must really be ending._ Rufus mused, recalling when that long ago time when _his_ world had been ending and how the Turks had pridefully refused to cover the stark colors of thier uniforms with even one coat.

Elena had gotten frostbite for that bit of vain glory and while "cure" materia had mended the damage Tseng wasn't one to repeat mistakes.

Not even those made to maintain the company's image.

"Alright." With a sigh Rufus conceeded to the moment. "I take whatever you've got for me."

To that Tseng nodded and pulled out a coat from the top of their supplies... little surprise that. Tseng was a practical Turk, when he had descided on where they were going he had shifted thier supplies so that those that needed would be the closest items on hand.

A glance told Rufus the color and seeing the color he sighed. White, the coat, the gloves, the snow pants... Everygarment was either a pure, or an off, shade of white.

"White?" Rufus protested.

"White." Tseng confirmed. "It is, after all, your tradition is it not?"

"Whatever you say Tseng." The Shinra gave up even a token protest to his Turk's steely tone of comand.

Seeing that all was well with his world the Turk nodded, then with a faint shiver the Wutia pulled the edges of his own black fur coat and tied up some of the dangling strings with glove swollen fingers.


	12. The screaming run

The Brimstone Tower

Chapter 12

Screaming run

_A/N: This initially was going to be with the last update, however I couldn't mesh it enough for my sensibilites, hence the split. So, here's the final half of the "leaving Midgar" segment. Enjoy. Kasan Soulblade._

The night had bits of thier own maddness in it, that final night. Filled with screams of thier shattered memories and the omnipresent grinding of earth on stone.

The planet was wounded, not scared or merely damaged, but wounded, and that wound threatened the life never mind a millenia had passed. The flesh of the world was rimmed with ice to numb a millenia's old pain, the callous hand of geological pressure had ground the edges of the gash so that there was a massive slope of pebbles among the ice. Beyond that, of the wound's depth and width, little had been done. And logically speaking nothing could be done to remedy the situation.

What could a lone planet do against the tides of cosmic fate? As for it's children, those few scattered mortals who could hear the cries, they were all gone now. A footnote in a history that was thick with dust.

Inhabbited by those truely deaf -not the willing deaf- the planet went on, wounded, unheard, and steadily dying.

They braved the wound and it's writhing dark. Thin beams of artificial light poured out from the cylinders that they braced in thier hands. Light preceeded them as if it was a weapon locked and loaded. Sometimes the light caught the edges of some crystal, only to wink back at them, othertimes it glanced off the hide of some shadow born horror that melted under the assault. Once -thank holy it was only once!- it had caught the eyes of a horror of more mundane in orgin and the guns had come out.

Thunder had roared under the crust of the earth then, artificial thunder with steel tipped heads as a point instead of forked lines of lightning... Still, it was the first thunder to reach down so low, and the cavern's ceiling above... it shivered.

And then came the screams.

The high pitched shrill scream -a child's- rang in Tseng's ears, recalling his darkest day, his greatest failure.

The sound torn from her own throat, born of recolection, Elena's ears were assaulted by the sounds of her own terror.

Eyes wide, frame shivering, Rude would only say that the voice was familiar, only that, but the cries -tailor made, planet given- that assaulted his ears made him weep.

Rufus would never speak of the sounds he heard, but as he listened he reached out and held the howling Dark Nation to his side.

Later, in saner places and saner times, they would recall thier descent as the screaming run. That timeless span where under the earth every nightmare was given voice and that voice had an audiance of one...

"Move!" Reaching for Turk and President alike Tseng snatched at the front of the coat of his nearest victum. Only knowing that whom he grabbed was warm and living Tseng roared at them, shoved them forward... A sense of motion told them that his first person had come to enough to follow orders. Satisfied that his efforts had sunk in the Wutia grabbed the second person, another "pep talk" at gun point got them running in the right way. One of them hesitated, in the dark he couldn't tell who it was or why. Aiming low he pulled the trigger. Thunder sounded again under the skin earth, red dots the color of freash blood -friction born, quickly doused by the below freezing air- illuminated the shards of rock that his bullet had dislodged. The identity of his near hit was still a mystery, and Tseng would go on never knowing if he had shot at President or fellow Turk. Reaching in the dark and finding no one else to grab the Wutia descided that enough was enough.

He managed to work his way up from a limb nump limp to a staggering run. The omnipresent cold was quick to suck down the last dredges of his energy, his bones ached and his teeth chattered even as he pressed on.

Ahead, thier herald in the winding, screaming, dark, was a familiar voice croaking in pain. Scarred by stigma and flame, having had to endure reconstruction surgeries of a horendous scale, Rufus was having the most difficulties. But he was in the lead by the sound of it, nevermind the pain in his bones and the cries of a world gone mad Rufus Shinra would lead.

And his Turks would follow.

XXX

From dark to light they went. The ground before them once a featureless mass that they stumbled over became streaked with a familiar green. Mako hued light tumbled upon itself, coiled amongst the cracks of the earth it made it's serpintine dance across the floors, highlighting the jagged edges and making pools of illumination on the smoother spans. From floors it ascended, clawing it's way up the harsh angles and burs that were so common to broken earth left untended.

"Mr. President!" Nothing more than a scream could have cut over the hellish canophony that sounded in thier ears, still Rude managed both the scream and a shove.

Staggering under the blow Rufus avoiding walking over a pool of green liquid only by falling on his knees before it.

Beautiful yet venomous, powerful yet deadly, such was the nature of Mako. Seeing only light, only knowing that he had to run, Rufus had forgotten such basic truths and had almost waded into a puddle of Mako. He'd almost treated the planet's very blood as if it was water. Elena came forward then, offered a hand, and Rufus took the prooffered support.

"Just a little further, sir!" Elena hollared.

Managing a sketchy nod of acceptance Rufus stood, his eyes were wide and haunted.

XXX

The endless caves would live up to thier namesakes. Vaugly Rufus recalled a report over a decade out of date with his father's signiture on the front. Some first class SOLDIER, Zack Fray-something-or-other, had braved the winding darkness to find what lay in the tunnel's heart. As they went down Rufus wondered idly at the final report. The final ten pages had been torn out and the document, and that was probably the only reason the Shinra even recalled it.

Whatever lay at the bottem though was a minor mystery that had teased his curiousity. Occasionally, that is, when he had the free time to wonder at something as abstract as a vandalized report. Even when he'd set his mind to the papers they hadn't been so great a curiousity as to be clasified as a bother in the files of his mind. He'd recall the missing pages, idly twine the possibilities in with the fingers of his mind, then let the speculation drop from his grasp and set his wits to more pressing problems.

Whatever lay on the bottem was most likely kill them, and even as he thought that he realized that the dark behind them was stirring. Glints of dead yellow were flickuring into being in the few smears of mako-tinted dark all around them.

Elena whirled, seeing the dark comming alive she pulled out her gun and fired at the nearest pair of eyes. In repsonse those pin pricks of rotten yellow swirved towards them. Turning, Rufus joined the futile gun fight, unshipping his Griffon he managed a few shots on the dark, but he might as well have been shooting at the shade. Rock chips went flying and the eyes continued thier approuch. At some unseen unheard signal they began to peal away from the earthen walls and some even rose from the floor. Black sillouettes, untouched by the planet's light, so dark they hurt to look at...

"Levianthan." Tseng mouthed the word, unable to even force out his final cry of defience. The Turk was that spent. Grimly the Wutia pulled his silver katana from the strap that it had hung from, the way he carried his weapon on his person was SOLDIER styled, -Contenentalism at it's peak- the way his hands closed over the hilt and the stance his feet took... it spoke of a Wutia heratige.

A roar from behind stopped them all, the dark featureless figures went still and as one the Turks and thier President turned.

Shining in the mako-light was a serpent of vibrant green that was too bright to look at. As one the dark clad and the darkness adverted thier eyes. Another roar sounded, and to that sound Dark Nation opened his own jaws to offer a howl of his own. The panther-hound's cry of defience was smothered by the shear volume of the creature's cry. Blindingly bright jaws parted showing slivers of glistening silver, a tongue of glistening emeralds flicked forward, caressing the edges of silver. Then, impossible though it may be -the whole tunnel ahead of them was filled with the thing's face and those blazing green eyes- claws squirmed arround the creature's face, squirmed and reached, reached and grabbed. The first motion forward was ponderous, slow, as if the shining creature had to test the edges of the reality it must break, then to dragged it's bulk soundlessly forward. No rocks crunched under the beast's frame, no scrape of claw on earth herladed it's approuch.

"Levianthan!" Tseng swore.

Nevermind the gesture was suicide at it's peak, the Turk leapt forward, his blade held high. With a cry Elena opened fire, Rufus' gun joined the fray, and Rude shoved past them all. Death by tooth, by claw, was preferable to those claws of dark, and they all lept at the opportunity to honestly die. Bullet's passed through the creature's form, causing shivers to appear, cracks weeping glistening green appeared at each point of impact. Then, the final blow. Silver struck and parted the beasts' snout at at that final strike the reptialian facade began to break away. Moment's later, taking the beast's place, was a writhing mass mako in it's purest form.

Not one of them had time to scream before the lifestream overtook them all.


	13. New World prt1

The Brimstone Tower

Chapter 14

Brave new World

If given a choice he'd, much prefer an alarm clock. Considering the state of the world he wasn't given a choice, and so the heaving panther-hound would have to serve. In matter of efficiency, his companion's suffering was by far better than any mechanical prompt. He woke up in a hurry, and the quick mental inventory granted to him by his budding awareness told him that if some proactive steps weren't taken –and soon- he would be joining his feline companion in illness.

If the vile taste in his mouth was even a ghost of what poor 'Nation was tasting little wonder the panther-hound was so sick.

Unlike the propaganda his detractors might spew he was not some mere beast; he was a Turk, and so being a Turk he was ever prepared. Pulling at his bent he found the flask with little difficulty. The force of his tug was such that the straps all but broke, but that was of little moment. With trembling hands he unscrewed the cap and let if fall where it would. The rim was to his lips and the bitter substance broke over his tongue in less than ten seconds. The first mouthful he swirled between his teeth like some vile mouth wash then spat if out. One deep breath was drawn, another, then he took a second pull from the bottle, gargled it, then hacked it out.

Stuff more solid and acidic than the potion passed from his lips that time, but there was precious little semi-solid matter. He was half curled, prone and hating every moment of his weakness… but he did not move until the pressure of his throat eased. Only when he could take a deep breath and not wonder if his gorge was going to come up did he dare push himself form the cool stones. He'd had a long time to consider the ground before him, because looking up had caused the earth to swirl. Well pressed those rocks, not cemented in place, but truly cobbled together. He let one gloved hand slide over the odd ground before pushing up. One half step later and he had reached out, clawing at the nearest wall to steady himself.

Brick, the jags told him. Neatly piled and sealed in place by... plaster? There was nothing of the slickness steel that had been the Shinra Tower's hallmark, nor the odd bastarding of styles that had been the hallmark of Healing Lounge. Even at the barest touch he could tell that this place had none of those features. Grimacing at the odd sensation he clenched his hands, let the jags and edge of the brick wall dig into his fingers and palm.

The pain would serve as a good counter to his illness.

From a world away there came the familiar in this place so unfamiliar. The hum of electricity, the steady thrumb as a current hissed through copper wires. Closing his eyes he focused on that sound, took breath after deep breath, focusing his mind on the familiar until his nerves stopped jangling and his heart slowed it's wild pounding. Better to focus on that then the sight to his right. Half hidden in shadow, tail and tentacle a complex knot, Dark Nation was a picture of misery. Cast in flesh and blood, his suffering was visible by the twist of his frame and the vile smelling pool at his forepaws.

Only when sure of his calm did Tseng open his slanted eyes and consider his feline ally. He nursed his potion in a now steady hand, taking sips from time to time as his still touchy stomach permitted. Pointedly the Turk ignored the wetness on his glove, the green tinge to the liquid that had splashed along the inner curl of his fingers. Such details alluded to how violent his spat of the shakes had been.

Such a thing was weakness, and never to be contemplated or mulled upon.

Only when his companion stopped his violent heaves did Tseng move. He rolled back his sleeve, to best face the façade that would divulge the time. Old Turk practice that, born of a time when the deadline had been his lesser God, his superiors the all mighty. Back the black fabric was pushed, past the worn and dull steel band that had been his Shinra issued brace back when Veld's had run things, past the thin scar where Kadaj had tried –and failed- to slit the Turk's wrists. Slightly higher up than most would have work it was a wristwatch. Normally it wasn't clipped so high… but this was a wartime scenario and as such Materia took precedence over punctuality.

Even to the obsessively punctual.

Checking a sigh Tseng listened and failed to hear the familiar "tick" of the mechanical gears at work. He sighed tapped the glass façade with hi nail, the second hand drooped down at that, drooped and swung limply between the outer edges of the six. Discounting the second hand, it seemed as if rigorous mortis had taken his device at two, be it two am or pm was anyone guess. It would have been two a clock Midgarian Eastern, and considering the rather quaint nature of his surrounding –not one car had driven by while he had taken watch over the alley's mouth way. On the other hand not one person had either.- compiled with the silence the Turk rather doubted that he was within comfortable walking distance of say… a Wall Market.

Tseng sighed, one hand closed over the grip of his gun, his eyes half closed. Behind him, a glistening silver sliver, lay his sword. The shaking of his legs was such he wouldn't quite trust them to be up to kneeling just yet so he nursed his potion in one hand and his gun in the other.

Behind him 'Nation padded about, his breath came in loud whuffing breaths. A shred of mobile dark it was only the living blue of the panther-hound's eyes that distinguished him from the demons of the recent days past. From shadow to yellow tinted lamplight Nation poold form light to dark, searching, then finding what he sought his head dipped and rose again, a bar of steel clamped between his jaws.

From dark to light, the president's beast strode through both with impunity. Claws tapping on streets built in a style considered archaic, those blue eyes never raised to the heavens as the Turks' had. He never noticed that the heavens seemed locked in a frozen moment of twilight. It was hard to see, the hues of sun's death, but they were there, jammed in the cracks and crevices where building met the gradually sloping horizon.

The scrape of steel on stone made the Turk turn back, consider the panther-hound and the beast's burden. After a long moment of merely considering Tseng took his potion in one smile, slipped the canister in it's holster and scratched the feline's scalp. Purring through the hilt jammed between his fangs was a hard task, but despite his recent bout of illness Dark Nation seemed up to meeting that hurdle. When the Turk's hands slid down the side of the panther-hound's face did Nation allow his jaws to drop open, and Tseng snatched at the offering before it hit the cobbled street.

"Good boy," the Turk grunted as he took up a blade meant for two hands and settled it in one. He felt the strain in that moment, a dull pain in his wrist and forearm. "Good, Dark Nation."

Dark Nation barked, his tail a wag, then he mewed. The President's pet looked beyond the Turk in askance but was too well trained to take what he wanted on his own. Understanding and sympathizing entirely, Tseng of the Turks nodded. Sword in one hand, gun in the other, he lead the way out from the alley and into the world.

"Let's go find him."

Nation barked his agreement.

XXX

Wiping his eyes free of the omnipresent dust, scrubbing at his mouth with the sleeve of his once pristine white coat, the coldest man of Gaia was -to say the least- sullied. Coated in dust that had shifted down to all his garments and left his once blonde hair a dull brown, his pants clotted with a thick brown _something _that flaked off whenever he moved, this was not one of Rufus' best days.

A fact his companion brought to his attention with every act, even one of compassion.

"You've got dust in your hair, Mr. President."

Cool, small, hands swatted at his skull. Rufus coughed as he was enveloped in a mini cloud of powdered rock. Yet, even as he coughed and wept as the dust tested every opening, his own hands pounded at the knees of his pants, trying desperately to dislodge some of the muck. A futile effort that, considering how his hands were just as filthy as the rest of him, still he tried, stubborn as a Shirna to the last.

Behind him… behind _them_… were in a tangled pile were the equally fouled furs. His and Elena's both.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you've got dust all in your hair."

Looking up at her with watering eyes Rufus couldn't quite glower, he didn't feel up to it truth be told.

"I'm aware." He croaked instead.

"I got most of it out." The Turk lied gently, dredging up a smile for her Boss. "At least people will know you're blonde now."

"Wonderful." A pause, ominous, grim, the silence was a flawless match for the young man's facade. "I want a mirror."

"Sorry Mr. President, I left mine in the 'choper, sir."

"Somehow, I doubt that." The President groused.

Elena only forced her smile wide and her eyes to be empty, never mentioning the fact that she did have a mirror. That she always carried a pocket mirror in her pant pocket, it was one of the few vanities on her person that Tseng allowed. Silence spread between Turk and President however the sulkiness of it was swift on the decline. They looked around, rookie and half trained, considered and complied the world around then all the while the sullen air between them unwound until the loose thread of silence's beginning unwound the whole skein of there quiet.

"Where are we?" Rufus breathed.

In their quiet they had abandoned the groove that they'd gotten ill in. Abandoned the piles of there own purging and the tangled furs. For his spat of sulk the President had taken in the twilight locked sky and the buildings. One of the houses was symptom of passé by Midgarian standards. It was a white washed mansion of snowy hue, it's windows were glazed and colored in geometric motif as the oldest chapels in Midgar had been. The building directly abutting it was a squat brick incrusted atrocity that seemed half giant made stairway, half mad made structure.

Not ready to answer that one Elena shook her head, then pointed up to a place Rufus had not yet looked. Beyond the buildings lay a rise, gentled and tamed by steps it's edge rimmed with benches. Beyond that, so high up one must crane their necks to see it, there was hung a sign. Neon lit, it was gaudy to most but homelike to the Midgarians.

"Look sir, a hotel."

"Do you think they take Express?" Rufus asked, he'd pulled a walled from his pocket, and after opening it found that only his credit card was whole… the bills were too grim encrusted to be anything less than trash.

"Oh, they will." Elena promised, patting the gun holstered to her side. "I'm positive."


	14. New World prt2

The Brimstone Tower

Chapter 14

New World Part2

_A/n: Written to Burning bright, by shinedown. Almost a Turk/Rufus anthem that... Well at least I think it si. Sorry about the long silence, but for over a month I haven't been able to get online with any regularity. Unfortunately, until after the holidays, that's not going to change anytime soon. My schedule, to say the least, is in major flux... however, I do try to hopefully make up for this lack on my end with quality updates._

Training with Reno had been something else to say the least. First mission in the company, first mandatory call back to report to head quarters and he'd snatched the phone from his more monosyllabic partner stating that he was more than capable of handling this. Considering how well Reno had just wasted there target Rude wasn't going to protest the claim. He'd given the phone up with a minimal fight and had nearly fallen over when Reno had bantered with the poor soul who'd picked up on the other end.

"Can you hear me now? Yeah? Nuthin' much, just checkin' the signal strength on your end yo, Turk coverage rocks!"

Tseng, they'd learned years later, had been the recipient of that call. The Wutia hadn't understood the reference then and probably hadn't now. The only reason he knew this was because Rufus had chewed them out over it. Clearly the Vice President was sick and tired of trying to explain the commercial slant of the Continental mind to his Wutia mentor.

"Make. Reno. Stop." Rufus had snarled on one than more occasion, each word ended in a sharp gasp as Rufus fought and nearly lost to his temper with each syllable. His tone was made of pure venom, especially after one of those frustrating "I'll try again to explain the Continental culture to the chronically humorless Wutian" speeches to Tseng.

Rude had tried, really he had, but the gag ran on and on. Tseng would pick up, and more often then not receive a joke that he never got despite the best of Rude's efforts. Reno was good a snatching the phone from his partner, good from dancing away from his slower partner's grasp and dialing the speed dial to the boss while running off.

Life as Reno's shadow had been something else. Always armed with a comeback, an insult, and his mag-rod when both failed, Reno had lead the charge the through bull most called the real world. Through the gates of bull lay hell, and they'd both treaded on that brimstone cacked world to last all there lives in a handful of years. Through hell and back, get dead drunk on weekends to fight the demons that haunted them, then stagger back to work the next day. That had been his life inside the Turks and out, and over all it wasn't a bad one.

But then, when the only person who picked what was "bad" was a Wutia without a soul, so they were allowed to get away with murder… literally.

And though Reno lead the charge and Rude sticked close to Rude as a shadow there little jaunts to through the brimstone gates weren't solo runs, never that. Elena joined them, tagged Lany by Rude –never mind what Reno said, Rude had come up with Rookies' nickname and Reno didn't have the balls to argue about it openly- Elena was the feminine slant to there runs. Her mere presence tamed Reno a bit around the edges, and Rude -grateful for the respite- had welcomed her along.

Unless it was a guy's night out, then she was banned on threat of blackmail and mutilation.

Then the world had ended, an avalanche had rolled down the side of the world then the heavens streaked red with blood and malice had fallen. World order in shambles most of there boozing joints had closed down, worse then that the world wide social collapse had taken the company down.

Weirdly enough, the worlds ending had coaxed there boss from the black little lair of an office he had lurked. Rude hadn't known that Tseng knew of some good boozing joints, nor that the Wutia Turk was a regular _anywhere_. That had been a shock, not as big as Meteor (almost) hitting Midgar, but it had been one hell of a shock all the same.

For a while it had been the four of them. Four Turks holding to old patterns in a wasted world, and the four of them had held fast to the old because it sure as hell beat the new. "New" meant facing down the fact that there Turk trained President, Rufus Shinra, was dying. Facing the present meant that they had to admit that there actions had lead to… the way things were.

"It's not our fault." Rude had never said the words, but each glass, each tumble filled to the rim with stuff strong enough to peal off paint, might as well have been those words.

"One of these days." Tseng had said dryly, his slant eyes pressed into slits as he faced down a hangover headache one morning. "We're all going to grow up."

"You're, what, thirty something?" Rude had countered wryly.

He hadn't been the wasted one this time, Turk rule number one was to have someone stay sober, and through he hated it when it was his turn it _had_ been his turn that time so he was. The next morning after there latest indulgence run and Reno and Elena were human pools in sullied black. Of the four Tseng and Rude were the only one's up, and the Wutia looked like he wished he wasn't.

"Something like that." The laconic Wutia murmured, one hand gently stroking his forehead as it to sooth away a migraine. From scalp to jaw line Tseng's long fingered hands traced, making an audible _scrap_ as the digit ran over a half weeks worth of stubble. "I'm going to the bathroom before it becomes too crowded."

As if Rude seriously cared. Still that was Tseng's way, the man had to report to _someone,_ even if he was reporting to an underling. The sound of water running had heralded the fact that Tseng had made the trip through the light soaked halls of Healin' without mishap.

Not long after that talk Tseng had married Elena, never mind that the wutia had previously vowed to Rufus that he would wait until the President was better to go through the ceremony. That had been a jolt, a shake to foundations earth hard and stubborn strong.

The old roles had started falling apart.

Lany had been a sister to him, a little sis, who he'd loved to protect. Her smiles and warmth made it worth every bruise and bullet took. Reno was the little brother he'd never had, Reno had shown Rude how to run the edge without taking a gash that wouldn't stanch. Rude would have broken the neck of any who dared hurt either of them and in some cases –like that bitch that had played with Reno's heart and left the red head completely oblivious to how his partner had wanted her- he followed up on unspoken threat and disposed of the body in ways that wouldn't draw attention. With Lany and Tseng together there wasn't a need to protect Lany, not like _that_ anyway. She had Tseng for the bully work, and she added a touch of class and warmth to old-slant eye's gig. While the change meant less effort on his part it was unsettling. Tseng had been that unspeakable, distant presence called "a boss", Rufus an oddly approachable half Turk half civilian. Tseng the boss, Rufus the bridge. That's what they'd been in the past. Both had dranw closer after the world had ended for them in Midgar, and the old began to disolve.

Learning that the boss, under his Turk manner, was actually human had been a shock. Watching Tsneg act human, act warm, and... well if not cuddly at least borderline touch and feely towards Lany had nearly given him cardiac arrest. Worlds ending had softened the slant eyed bastard, and the faint warmth had spawned to a nearly paternal attitude towards Rufus. Both changes had been jaggs in the foundations of his world, he endured them though, since he couldn't change things back.

It was the mericale that had blasted it all to hell. That shimmering water and light, the planet's blood which had pulled Rufus past the death of Geo-Stigma that had brought the key stone down.

"We're alone here and no one cares. We're the gods, the devils, of our stories. We're the heros and vilians. Us. We. There are no others."

Turk creed that, Truk truth, only Reno's flipancy had saved Rude then.

"So what if the planet's watching, not like the green and blue b-" Lany strolled into the room, with Tseng and Rufus, Reno bit his lip and aborted form the profanity knowing that Tseng would feed him his tripes if he dared continue with the two "innocents" around. "b-er... umm wench don't care." Chewing on his lower lip Reno correctd himself. "Well she hasn't cared since her last Ancient pushed up dasies anyway."

Looking amused, the blanket that he'd drapped over his form for months to better hide his suffering from the world tucked under one arm Rufus had cracked a smile that wasn't all ice.

"Lany, shall we leave so the adults can have there conversation in private?" Living to the cliche of her hair color Elena looked blankly at the President. "You know Tseng." Rufus continued, his tone patronizing. "He still thinks I can't watch, or listen to, anything that's over pg 13." Rufus continued, his teeth flashing. Elena caught on then and she laughed her agreement. The two "children" had filed out leaving the "adults" alone so Tseng could yell at them.

Not long after that chat Reno had died. Killed in action at North Crater on a low risk mission, and the world had ended again. On a matter of personal scale the world's ending just didn't match up to the fact that the shattered remnants of his personal order had been blasted to cinders. Still, Rufus was the President, he was the Turk, Tseng his Boss. When Tseng had given him his orders he toed the line, even as he wondered why he even bothered.

Coming out from under all that, baggage, trama, whatever you wanted to call it... Little wonder he was confused. Even as the sickness gripped his guts and teared his eyes he was thrown back to the times where they'd all indulged. He half listened, expecting to hear other's join him in his missery or something. Nothing came for his waiting, or his listening, only the slow sobering realization that he didn't know where he was and that he was toasting to death in the filty furs tht had seemed so appropriate for storming Crater. He stripped those off in a hurry, waiting only long enough to remember what up and down were so that his hands could do there work.

After that was done he staggered out into the street, blood shot eyes hidden behind a skien of tinted glass. Pushing the shades in place he slipped out from behind a wood building and out into some sort of square. Funny looks were cast his way when he staggered out into the open. Mostly by the children who huddled under the thin skins of illumination that the scattering of lamp posts provided, the adults, those were few and far between, looked at him with a hybrid of pity and understanding. Licking his lips, ordering himself not to get sick again, Rude centered his tie and went from standing out in the open to moving forward.

Becuse he didn't dare look back, there was dark waiting for him back there. A dark with claws that ripped apart souls and brought down worlds...

And around him were the hard eyed, the chronically weary. From adult to child were eyes that held knowing gazes. All around his sentiment was mirrored back to him, all around were the ice sheathed eyes of those who lost everything and knew it.

Reaching up, making sure his shades were in place Rude went forward, never looking back or around. His hand reached into his pocket, and came up with his cell. He flipped it open and hit speed dial, praying _someone_ would pick up.


	15. New World prt 3

The Brimstone Tower

Chapter 15

New World Part3: Reunion

A/N: An edit update, did some editing for this chapter and descided to put it up.

At the dog's statue he bathed without the benefit of soap. Still, he managed a sketchy state of clean. The smell of dung, dirt, and exertion was dulled at least. Friction and water could do more than most thought, but only if applied in force.

His hair however, wasn't as cooperative. He'd bent over double to give it a good soak, and after lifting his head the waters had been... less then pristine. Still his hair felt less like a mass of dried blood and muck and more like it's silken normality. Raking an only mildly sullied digit through his damp locks he managed to push the locked back. After some consideration he forgo style, settling for merely slicking the black mass out of his eyes. He'd acquire a comb later when he found the others. For now, such a minor vanity as style could wait.

Other, less minor indulgences however, could not. There was, as always, company image to maintain. For the sake of that image... that honor the Wutia stripped out of the outermost of his garment. Despite being mildly illegal the Turk soaked his suit in the pool and laid them to dry in the water sources' chiseled rim. Black little lines of dye trickled down from his suit, like lines from severed veins, filling in the traces with wet shadows that mere light wouldn't banish. While he worked, Nation exercised the better aspect of valor and padded a safe distance away. The panther-hound had lived long and proud amongst his odd two legged pack members to know the dreaded "bath" when he saw one. Once out of the relm of a easy grab and drag from the artificial pool the panther-hound caught the slant eyed hum's eye and showed him the proper things were done. With a vigorous shake to dislodge the thick layer of dust that had settled on him like a second coat Nation then lolled out his tongue and got to grooming. The soft rasp of tongue gliding over hide and the cheery blurble from the fountain was the only sounds for a long while.

Nipping a bur out of the tip of his tail Nation snorted, and to that sound the hum lifted the thin black furred bar that ran over his left eye. With a mew to enunciate his meaning the panther-hound scampered across the stony ground pointedly _not_ trailing a line of water. With a grimace that spoke of a man stealing himself for the unspeakable the hum's lips pressed into a thin line. Ritual done, the hum exuded a thick miasma of annoyance, but despite the acidic reek the hum reached for the still saturated garments. Nation's bark of horror didn't stop the man one bit, and in moments the slant eyes hum wasn't trailing a thin line of water like before, he stood in a black tinged puddle of it.

"Come 'Nation."

Ears slicked back, the panther-hound shook himself vigorously, the thought of being near his water logged pack mate made his hackles rise.

"Dark Nation!"

Never mind the "no supper" overture to that voice. Nation was _not_ moving a paws length in the dripping alpha's direction. No force on gaia would break the panther-hound's resolve against getting wet.

"Get back here!"

With no leash to rein the panther-houd in Dark Nation was able to follow whatever whim he had at the moment. It was nice, this freedom, and he exercised it to his greatest extent. On silent paws he bound into the dark, his tail and tentacle tucked low and held tight to prevent the pursuing hum from gaining a paw's grip on either. A low growl and series of squelches told the creature that his saturated pack mate was not far behind.

To that Dark Nation ran all the harder.

XXX

"Thank Leviathan, running water!"

With her slightly sacrilegious prayer done Elena thrust her hands under the facet, her pale face twisting into a expression of rapture as the dirt washed away. Letting the clear liquid fill the span of her cusped hands Elena splashed at her face and neck. Throwing her traditional Turk reserve to the winds Elena giggled like a girl at the wonderful chill liquid. Tossing water too and fro the Turk half cleaned, half played, oblivious to her audience of one's chuckles. After a few moments of her sport the once pristine porcilyne sink developed a series of gritty black stripes.

Sitting on the edge of the room's sole bed, Rufus Shinra, president of the Shinra Company, shook his head, still laughing. His hands, ignorant of his mirth, nervously folded and opened a pamphlet he'd acquired at the front desk. He'd read the contents when Elena had begun to modestly dab at herself, but as the Turk's resolve towards stoicism had faded in the pleasures of the moment Rufus had set aside his reading to better enjoy the show. Now, fully bored with the image of the frolicking Turk, Rufus finished the last page and set the glossy packet aside for good.

Again, oblivious that this was supposed to be a time to rest, clean up, and relax his hands snatched a shell shaped paperweight from the nearby nightstand and rolled the item over and over again over his calloused palm. He'd exercised the powers of his rank upon entering. Commandeered a shower and scrubbed and cleaned with such vigor that his flesh was flushed from his forehead on down. His hair, once an indeterminate shade of brown-gray was now revealed in it's familiar blonde glory, and the white of his trench coat, shirt, and pant combination were well on the way of being restored via a soak in the tub.

Elena, tolerant even for a Turk, had gamely taken the sink he'd left for her. She made do with the limitations, cleaning what she could and refraining from protest what others would consider cruel treatment. She knew the President, knew that if she hadn't toed the line when he was feeling vulnerable he'd bite her head off. And despite her frivolous front she knew in this new world they fond themselves in friction was the last thing they needed.

XXX

She was a delicate slender slip of a woman all clad in the softest hues of pink and white. With a ready smile and a swift laugh she simpered here and there, oblivious to the world. Drifting past the pained and suffering multitudes with only the barest lessening of her smile she hummed odd tunes, snatches of songs half familiar yet long forgotten. How she'd drawn Tseng's interest was one of the world's greater mysteries. her green eyes were wide to the point of being vapid. The woman's breathy voice, while pleasant, had nothing of strength or resolve to it's tenure. Yet, despite these many flaws the Wutia Turk had been smitten.

Time and death had brought Tseng to his sense. _Her_ death, least of all had brought home the fact it wasn't supposed to be, then with the girl gone Elena had made her move. With Tseng's interest firmly cemented where it belonged the world had fallen into a recognizable pattern, and though the sky itself had fallen all was well.

Now, staring impossibility in the face, Rude had to winder how well his world -and that of the leader at its' center- were going to fare against _this._ He stared at her, eyes wide, face chill and tinged a sickly gray. Oblivious to his state, the child who'd approached him was busy playing with the device that had caught his eye while two other specters of Rude's budding insanity looked on.

Only a lifetime of associating with the occasionally infantile Reno gave Rude the education necessary to identify these two.

Wong Quack and Goof Flop-ear dressed in satires of a Midgarers garb that were made satires by the multitude of jagged stripes and zippers that found roost on the top of those stripes. The child who'd traveled with those twin impossibilities seemed nice for a pipsqueak with cloud styled hair cast in earthy brown. Spotting Rude, recognizing him only as "someone new" the kid had started the encounter.

"Hey! Heeeey!"

Annoyed by the salutation Rude had stopped, turned and glowered. Glower had turned to gap as his gaze slid past the child and settled on the two figures from a childhood unlived. When _she _had rounded the corner his gap had bypassed all expressions of stupefied shock. He had rocked back on his heels, not daring to breath, unwilling to believe. The ground had lurched to an outré angle without the benefit of booze, and he suddenly had an aching for booze on seeing her for the first time.

Satisfied that he wasn't going to run off the kid who'd started it all had slowed his mad dash to a more sedate run. All the while the kid was trailing fiction and delusion wrought persons behind him without a care in the god forsaken world. He could only stare, and gap as the kid, in grabbing distance -dangerous that, ever dangerous to get that close to a Turk- had declared Rude "new" and had tendered salutations across the board to alleviate any "hurt feelings".

"Arieth Gainsborough." The woman had murmured, demurely offering her hand, the stereotypical pink of her gender rustled about her shoulders, a silver bracers made of countless little bracelets jangled.

"Rude," He swallowed down something bitter and hard. "of the Turks." He stared at the pro-offered limb, wondering what on Gaia to say, wondering if she was even solid. "You look nice for being dead" just wasn't the way to start a chat with the girl your boss used to like. Seeing he wasn't gong to take the shake, the impossibility lowered her hand and the omnipresent smile thinned a bit...

"Not very friendly, is he?" Goof... or rather Goofy whispered to his feathered companion, holding up thick hands as if they would cover the words. The duck creature, aptly named Donald Duck let out a sound half "humph", half quack, and let his scrawny arms cross over his chest.

XXX

His phone had rung without ringing. The result was one missed call that had been utterly silent. When he had opened the device to see who had called the screen had been a mess of lines and motion, disgusted he had closed his phone and moved on. Eyes half closed, tapping scan and precognition materia with his thoughts alone, he wandered through empty streets, seeming in a dream beyond waking. A patch of friendly dark padded besides him, blue eyes gleaming.

XXX

The reunion between President and Turk was highly emotional. Tseng actually smiled wide enough to show his teeth, at least Elena _thought_ he had. Things became muddied after Rufus all but threw himself into the Wutia man's arms, so she wasn't sure. Descending the red stairs, Elena took her time, allowed Tseng and Rufus their reunion. As if unsure that it was right but braving the unknown anyway, Tseng's arms slung over the Continental young man's shoulders as Rufus Shinra proved at long last that he was three parts wrong. Despite his familial name he could feel, did bleed, and at last cried.

And about time too.

Hands tucked into her pant pockets she trotted down the last few steps, her steel soled boots clocking against the cobbles marking her descent in a crisp staccato beat.

"That's my husband your crushing." Elena noted clinically. Than, since Tseng had taken a hell of a long time to find them Elena added. "Really Tsengy, the way your cuddling the President, I could get jealous.."

Even that faint allusion of.. a non-conformist relationship worked like magic. Both men jumped back, faces tinged red, embarrassment obvious. With a cruel chuckle the Turk strode up to her husband, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. She broke the embrace off while his eyes were still wide and only when she'd had a proper span to muss his hair. Only when Tseng was the perfect image of shock did she let go and walk away, acting like nothing had happened. Composure safely in hand, Rufus smirked as the sole female Turk drifted past.

"Marriage must be _really_ lively for you if she's this conniving all of the time."

Preoccupied with running a hand through his black locks -as if settling each strand into place would set his unflappable facade back in place all the faster- Tseng refrained from making an answer.

Which, in it's own way, was comment enough.

XXX

There reunion with 'Nation was a noisy affair. With a bound and a leap the panther-hound soundlessly sailed out of the dark. Noise came on impact with the chosen target, and he took them down one by one starting with Tseng and ending with Rufus. Rumble crawled out of the onyx throat and once firmly perched upon his prey the creature rubbed his furry snout along the back of his victim's head, mashing the recipients' nose and mouth against the stone.

A barked syllable from the Wutia Turk made the shadowy beast hop off of the wheezing President with a contrite "yip". Face as red as Tseng's had been the President took the Turks' proffered hand. Nation, tail awag, Tentacle held high, and tongue lolled long, looked up at his master with wide blue eyes. Embracing the panther-hound's furry skull Rufus gave Nation's head a good ruffling that ended with an affectionate shake. For a while Tseng seemed content to watch President and pet play, but too soon he cleared his throat, drawing Rufus back to the real world.

"Mr. President, we should see to locating the last member of out party."

To that Elena rose an eyebrow. Tseng's word choice was at best... neutral. An odd thing considering that "the last member of their party" was a Turk. She tried to catch Tseng's eyes so she could draw him into a quick, silent, chat, but he pointedly ignored her. With a hand set behind Dark Nations' tentacle Rufus lead the way out of the dark plaza, his Turks a few steps behind.


End file.
